


Tarnished Reflections

by W4nderingStar



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: All the stuff already in the tags, Alternate Universe - Role Reversal, And love, Canon-Typical Violence, Chapter 3 tags here, Chapter five tags:, Chapter four tags, Confrontations, Dreams, F/M, Flashbacks, Gabe's POV, Hurt No Comfort, Jack's reaping a lot of souls, Kissing, Lies, M/M, Pre-Overwatch, Promises, Reaper's birth, Reaper76 Week, Reunions, SEP era, Sickness, Tags for chapter two start here:, We see Gabe's side of things, a hell of a lot of rage, a looooooot of violence, and pain, and this time, but nothing more than that, but things changed so it's not cheating!, comfort at the end, everyone getting role swaped, lots of pain, lots of souls getting reaped, not giving up on a lost love, remembering the past, retelling of the shorts and old soldiers, sad dads being cute, slow slide into decay, so i kinda cheated a little, some living soul stealing, some more violence, talon mole, their going to be kept, undead character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-15
Updated: 2018-01-19
Packaged: 2018-09-17 17:27:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 48,856
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9335162
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/W4nderingStar/pseuds/W4nderingStar
Summary: Gabe has had a hard eight years. His thoughts drift back to his life before Zurich. Before he lost the one he loved.Day 5: Downfall- falling out/heartache





	1. How We Were

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into 中文 available: [Tarnished Reflections（翻译）](https://archiveofourown.org/works/10020605) by [AMithen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AMithen/pseuds/AMithen)



**How We Were**

History

 

“Morrison.” 

 

Jack's head jerked up and he snapped into a salute. “Sir, yes, Sir!”

 

The General and his group of aides walked over slowly as Jack held the stiff posture. “Do you have a moment, Soldier?”

 

“Of course, Sir.”

 

“At ease.”

 

Jack dropped into ease stance, hands clasped behind his back. What was the commanding SEP General doing here? Had Jack's results not been satisfactory? Had he done something wrong? Had they found out about—

 

The General waved away his aides and handed Jack a small holo-communicator. “Think long and hard about the decision you're going to have to make, son. When you have an answer, I'll be in my office.”

 

Puzzled, Jack watched the General and his entourage walk away, like nothing out of the ordinary had happened. When they were out of sight, Jack flicked his thumb over the device, bringing up the menu to see who the hell could be sending him something so important that the four-star general in charge of SEP personally delivered it.

 

An unfamiliar logo greeted him. It was a simple thing. Just a broken circle with two protrusions into the center that kind of looked like praying hands. Or maybe his grandmother had just dragged his heathen ass to church too many times and he was projecting. He turned off the device and slipped it into his pocket. Probably wasn't a good idea to read something important out in the hall.

  
  
  


\--

  
  
  


In the back of the little reading room SEP had set up to take soldier's minds off the side effects of the program, Jack sat, hands in his lap, gaze staring at the meager shelf of books without really seeing them.

 

What this... Overwatch offered was... was.... He pushed the heels of his palms into his eyes. He didn't even know what to call their offer. Exciting? Dangerous? Glorious? Foolish? They made good points. On their own, no one was making progress against the omnics, but perhaps together....

 

But that meant he went away, off to wherever the United Nations sent him. Away from any chance of returning home to the farm, away from family. It would put the most important day of his life on hold. He looked at the holo-clock above the door. He'd been chasing his thoughts in circles for over two hours and got himself nowhere.

 

He needed to talk to Gabe.

 

Jack stood, floating out of the door and through the compound like he was in a dream. Even as he tried to stubbornly keep his mind on the here and now, his thoughts kept drifting back to Overwatch.

 

When he rammed into his barrack door, sending a stab of pain through nose, he realized he'd made it all the way across base. Muttering a curse, he punched in his code and let himself in.

 

Gabe sat on the bed, staring out the small window. He didn't turn when Jack came in. The far away look on his face was what Jack guessed his own expression looked like before the door helped smack some sense into him.

 

“Hey,” Jack said.

 

Gabe's head turned, his glazed over eyes blinking, focusing on Jack. His full lips quirked up in a smile. “Hey.”

 

Jack came and sat on the bed beside him.

 

They said nothing for a long time.

 

Finally, Gabe produced a holo-communicator. Jack showed him the identical one he had.

 

“Well,” Gabe said, a slow smile spreading across his face. “That'll speed things up a little.”

 

Jack set his communicator aside. “What do you think?”

 

Gabe turned the device over in his palm a few times before setting it aside. “It's a big decision.”

 

They sat quietly for another few moments.

 

“Pros and cons?” Jack asked.

 

“Sure.” Gabe glanced at him. “You wanna start?”

 

“Pro: It'll put us in a better position to do what we were meant to do.”

 

“Con,” Gabe fired back. “We'll be the pawns of an organization we know nothing about.”

 

“We're already pawns,” Jack reminded. “Just of the US government.”

 

“But it's the evil we know,” Gabe said. “Pro: We'll be working in a close-knit team of the best soldiers from around the world who are at the pinnacle of their country's programs to combat omnics.”

 

“Con: Everyone could have their own agenda or orders and it could implode before it ever gets off the ground.”

 

“That's what you're going to be there for. Just smile and bat those baby blues and have everyone getting along.”

 

Jack rolled his eyes. “My charms don't work like that.”

 

“They did on me,” Gabe said, leaning in and placing a chaste kiss on his lips. “They still work on me.”

 

Jack scoffed, putting his hand in Gabe's face and pushing him off. “I'm being serious here.”

 

“So am I.”

 

“Pro,” Jack said, getting them back on track. “We could protect a lot of people if things work out.”

 

“Con: a lot of people could die if it doesn't.”

 

“People are dying already.”

 

“I know.” Gabe sighed. “Pro. We'll stay together.”

 

“Con; we'll have to pick a new date.”

 

Gabe chuckled, tucking his nose in the nape of Jack's neck and kissing him. “So much for a summer wedding.”

 

Jack ran his fingertips down Gabe's cheek, turning his chin up. Their lips met in a leisurely kiss for several long minutes.

Gabe's eyes fluttered open. “Pro: if we get married in Switzerland I'm sure there'll be a lot less fuss.”

 

“Con: that's an expensive plane ticket for my family. That's not even counting your mother and sisters.”

 

“Hmm.” Gabe kissed down Jack's neck, running his hand under his shirt.

 

Jack wanted to tell him no, that this was a serious conversation... but that warm, calloused palm drifting over his abs up to his chest felt too good. “Compromise: marry in Switzerland, save up our money, when the war is won and we go home, we'll throw one hell of a reception and renew our vows.”

 

“My fiancé is the smartest man on earth,” Gabe hummed as he pulled Jack's shirt off over his head.

 

“We're having a conversation here,” Jack said with a smile as Gabe kissed down his pec.

 

“I can multitask,” Gabe said, then flicked his tongue against Jack's nipple.

 

“You can  _ not _ ,” Jack fired back, tugging Gabe's shirt up and off. He trailed his fingers down the ball-chain necklace that dangled from Gabe's neck to the set of dog tags. His searching fingers found the newest addition; a plain, silver ring. Who ever would have thought that such a simple thing could bring him so much joy?

 

“Afraid I'd lost it?” Gabe chuckled, working his kisses back up and sucking a new hickey onto Jack's neck.

 

“Still can't believe you said yes.”

 

Gabe chuckled again, a breathy little sound that made Jack's heart flutter as he wrapped his arms around his fiancé's neck. He'd think about Overwatch later. Right now, all he wanted to think about was how good Gabe felt against him.

 

~

 

“You awake?”

 

Jack's eyes cracked open. “Yeah,” he muttered, pressing his lips to Gabe's sternum.

 

His fiancé's fingers gently combed through his hair and Jack leaned into the touch, savoring it like a fine wine.

 

“It's going to be dangerous,” Gabe said, softly. “Jumping blindly into the unknown. Things are going to be pretty fucked up. There's a good chance we won't live through it.”

 

“Are you talking about joining the Overwatch? Or married life?” Jack joked, tightening his arms around Gabe's barrel chest.

 

“You know what I mean.”

 

Jack sighed, tucking himself against Gabe's warm body. “I know.” He sighed again, knowing they wouldn't get long to think this over.

 

“I won't go unless there's someone I trust watching my six,” Gabe said, resting his chin on the crown of Jack's head.

 

Jack touched the gold ring strung on his own dog tags. “I joined up to protect the people I love. And I love you most of all, Gabriel. If we die, at least we'll die together. I'm fine with that.”

 

Gabe's strong hands slid down Jack's back. “We're doing it then?”

 

“Thought we just did it.”

 

Gabe chuckled. “You're not wrong.”

 

They drifted off into silence again.

 

“Gabe?”

 

“Yeah?”

 

“Are you scared to die?”

 

Gabe shifted back, cupping Jack's chin in his hand and lifted it so they were eye to eye. “With you at my side? No.”

 

Jack tried to smile. “I might be... just a little.” Or a lot. There was so much he wanted to do, to say. So many sunsets he wanted to share with Gabe, bring him home and introduce him properly to his family. Have their first real fight, their first make up sex. Maybe, sometime in the future, talk about adoption. It wasn't the dying he was afraid of, but all the things left undone, unsaid.

 

“Don't worry,  _ mi sol. _ ” Gabe tenderly brushed their lips together. “I'll protect you.”  

  
  


 


	2. At Your Back

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Quietly builds an ark*

**At Your Back**

Trust/Betrayal

  


The blinding lights made it hard to see anything beyond them, even for Jack's enhanced vision. But it didn't matter, he only had eyes for Gabe. Despite the harsh lights trained on him, Jack refused to loosen his uniform tie or collar. This was the big day. He wouldn't allow himself to be anything but perfect. He stood, ramrod straight, hands clasped, eyes straight ahead. Ana nudged the small of his back with her elbow, a silent reminder not a break his spine standing so straight for so long.

 

He wouldn't. Not today. Nothing would ruin today. He stared at Gabe adoringly. He was so handsome in his Overwatch-blue uniform, hugging his body in all the right places, his chest candy glinting in the light, reminders of his countless acts of bravery and leadership. Jack couldn't tear his eyes away as Gabe smiled.

 

“May I present to you, for the first time,” the official said to the hushed crowd. “The Strike Commander of Overwatch; Gabriel Reyes!”

 

The crowd burst into applause. Jack restrained himself from the wild clapping he wanted to do and instead kept to a respectful golf clap like the rest of the team as Gabe took center stage.

 

This was the biggest day of their life. The war was won, Gabe was getting the most coveted job in the world, and soon, they'd meet at the altar to fulfill a promise that had been put off so long. Jack resisted the urge to touch the ring on his necklace as Gabe gave his acceptance speech, the golden lights of the stage making him glow with the radiance of an angel. Jack's personal guardian angel, who'd protected him faithfully, was finally getting what he'd always wanted.

  
  


\--

  
  


“I'm sorry,” Jack said, mouth crimped into a hash frown. “I'm not sure I understand correctly.” He glanced at the horseshoe table of UN officials with Gabe sitting dead-center. “What I interpreted from your proposal—” he made sure to meet each and everyone of their gazes. “—was that you plan to make a covert operations division of Overwatch. And you want me to run it.”

 

No one disputed him.

 

The corner of his lips twitched before he could school himself back into a neutral expression. “I see.”

 

“Do not give us that look, Commander Morrison,” the chancellor on the left end of the horseshoe said, her face so caked in make up it didn't seem to move. “You took part in covert operations before. You, like every good soldier, know they are a necessary evil.”

 

 _But Overwatch shouldn't need necessary evil._ Jack bit back his retort. It wouldn't do any good. “Overwatch was built to be a beacon of hope,” Jack said, trying to get them to see. “You can't be a world peacekeeping organization and then run missions behind closed doors.”

 

The prime minister on the right steepled his fingers. “We realize this is a big decision for you, Commander. But we'll need an answer.”

 

Jack drew himself up. It was a big decision. One didn't turn down a... promotion like this and continue to have a career. It was resign, or be relegated to some forgettable post in the middle of nowhere.

 

He wondered if his parents would let him crash in his old room while he looked for something else, or if he would finally surrender to destiny and be the fourth generation Morrison to work the land.

 

“Thank you for the honor,” he began. “But I'm going to have to—”

 

Gabe rose from his chair. “Councilors, if I could have a moment with the commander.”

 

Jack grit his teeth as Gabe came around the table, hands behind his back, the hem of his blue duster fluttering behind him. “Commander Morrison, if I could have a moment.”

 

“Of course, Strike Commander.” Jack followed Gabe out of the room.

 

The moment the doors were closed, Gabe turned to him. “Jack, be reasonable.”

 

“I am. It's reasonable to believe that something as powerful as Overwatch should not have a behind the scenes black ops unit.”

 

Gabe sighed. “You know as well as anyone that covert ops is a fact of life. Blackwatch is going to happen. It's how we handle it that will make or break us.”

 

“ _We_?” Jack asked, arching an eyebrow.

 

“I nominated you for the job,” Gabe said, quickly moving on before Jack could get any indignation out. “You're the best man for the job. You have unshakable morals, you're not a power seeker, you won't abuse the power left in your care. There were a hundred other people ready to cut each other's throats for the job.”

 

“So give it to one of them,” Jack said, squaring his shoulders. “I don't want it.”

 

“And that's exactly why I want you to take it.”

 

Jack gave him a puzzled look.

 

Gabe put his arm around Jack's neck, pulling him close, like they were sharing a joke. “If it's not you, those idiots are going to put someone who kisses their ass in charge, and everything we worked for will go up in flames.”

 

Jack crossed his arms and sighed. “I'm not a good liar. It's not in me to lead missions with questionable intents.”

 

“I need someone I can trust running Blackwatch,” Gabe told him. “That branch is going to have a lot of freedom and there is going to be a lot of potential for abuse. You, _mi chico de oro_ , are going to make sure that doesn't happen. You're my eyes and ears, keeping Blackwatch honest.”

 

It still didn't sit right with him. Covert ops in war was one thing. In peacetime, it felt too much like behind the back subversion.

 

Gabe squeezed his shoulder. “I need you to do this for Overwatch, Jack. For me. I'll be watching your six the whole time.”

 

He could never say no to Gabe. Jack sighed. “And who will be watching your back?”

 

“Reinhardt will be my new SIC.”

 

Jack knew someone would have to step up... but that had always been Jack's place at Gabe's side. “Ana?”

 

Gabe smiled. “I'm going to try and talk her into retiring so she can spend more time with Fareeha. The war was hardest on her, she spent half her life without her mom.”

 

“She won't go into her golden years easily,” Jack said, “but you can try.”

 

“With you keeping Blackwatch in check, and Rein watching my back, she can retire knowing we have everything under control.”

 

“Never said yes.”

 

“But you also never said no.”

 

Jack sighed again. “It's almost summer....”

 

Gabe shook his head. “Everything's too crazy with the promotion and streamlining Overwatch. When things die down, we'll set a date. I promise.”

 

“Fine,” Jack said, leaning in and kissing Gabe's scarred cheek. “I'll do it. Only because I trust your judgement.”

 

Gabe smiled that handsome smile that made Jack all weak-kneed and fluttery-hearted.

  
  


\--

  
  


Jack looked at the file on his tablet, adding in comments where he needed to on the after action paperwork. He'd been carefully laying out his trap for the Twist Gang for at least four months. And in less than two hours, it was over. Blackwatch had rounded up the majority of the London-based gang and even now his agents were hunting down the stragglers. No fatalities on either side, just some roughed up gangsters, and the media hadn't even known they were there. A perfect textbook case.

 

But there was one... variable that he wanted to explore further. They could prove an asset.

 

An interview room door banged open and his field medic stumbled out, blood coating her hand as she clutched at her nose.

 

“Hawkins,” Jack said, tucking the tablet under his arm. “What happened?”

 

“I patched her cut and offered her a glass of water,” the medic snarled, voice pitched and nasally. That nose was broken for sure.

 

“Get to medical. I'll handle it from here.” He waved his agent off.

 

“Looks like you have a difficult one in the cage,” came Gabe's voice.

 

Jack turned, arching an eyebrow at the Strike Commander who leaned against the wall. When had he got back from Egypt? “Nothing I can't handle.”

 

“Why are you handling anything at all? Book her with the rest.”

 

Jack bristled. This was his op, and his call.

 

Gabe seemed to sense he'd ruffled feathers. “What's your plan? From your initial report, we have enough on all of them to put them away for decades. We don't need her to flip on anyone, so why the interest?”

 

“A hunch.” Jack shrugged.

 

“You need back up in there?”

 

Jack bristled again. In battle was one thing, Gabe thinking Jack needed watching over in his own interrogation rooms was another. “I think I can handle this.”

 

“I know. Sorry. Old habits.”

 

Jack sighed. Gabe was only trying to help. “Trust me. I have everything under control.”

 

Gabe nodded. “I'll observe.”

 

Jack grit his teeth and nodded. Just trying to be helpful. He turned on his heel and let himself into “the cage” as his agents had nicknamed it. He closed the door and took out his tablet again, ignoring the single occupant chained at the table. Swiping through her file for a refresher on her case wasn’t necessary, he knew it inside and out, but still, he wanted to make sure he didn’t miss any detail.

 

Absently, he kicked out the empty chair at the table and sat. Once he read through the file, he closed it, opening his agent's duty roster and started making the next month's schedule. There weren't enough hours in the day for this. Between running his own missions, over seeing others missions, all the damn after-action paperwork he had to do on his own now without a team to help, scheduling was a necessary annoyance he had to jam in where he could. And it seemed like his guest was willing to let him get some work done. Great.

 

He finished next month's schedule—his teams were going to die of shock—and started in on the month after. Just when he thought he might get ahead, his guest shifted, making the heavy manacles and chains rattle. Jack lifted his gaze from the tablet, arching an eyebrow.

 

“Wot' the bloody 'ell ar' you lookin' at?” snapped the girl across the table from him.

 

She was a tiny little thing, barely five-four, if that. The hair made her look taller. It was all pulled back and pinned up, seemingly all held together by a fashionable little hat with a face net. A hat that had taken a bullet or two. Her dressy orange blouse and faux-corset was ripped and splattered with dirt, and torn at the shoulder, revealing a half-applied bandage. The face net did nothing to hide the black eye and bruises darkening her youthful face.

 

Jack waited another moment. When she wasn't interested in engaging him anymore, he went back to the schedule.

 

He was two whole months ahead and wondering if he'd get to three when she spoke again.

 

“You really a bobbie?” she sneered. “Or ya just pop in to ditch the misses?”

 

Jack lifted his gaze.

 

“Cat got your tongue, lov? Or ya just waitin' for yur boss ta show up?” She put her elbows on the table, manacled hands clasped before her.

 

Still, he said nothing.

 

“Oh, bad cop ar' ya?” She smiled. “Dealt with plenty of those, lov. I know all yur tricks so save yourself the trouble.”

 

“Lena Oxton,” Jack said simply.

 

Shock flickered through her expression for the barest of seconds.

 

“But you're known better by your code name, Dead Eye.” He flicked the schedule off his tablet screen and reopened her file. “I think your rap sheet alone takes up half this thing's memory. Assault. Armed robbery. Impersonating an officer. Possession of stolen goods. Illegal sale of banned firearms.” He set the tablet down. “It's an impressive record.”

 

Lena leaned back in her chair, setting her hands in her lap as she slouched. “An'?” she drawled.

 

“You've been in the Twist Gang a long time. Bet it's the closest thing you have to family.”

 

“So?”

 

Jack called up the camera mode on the tablet and turned it so she could see herself. “Families don't give their daughters black eyes, Miss Oxton.”

 

Lena slowly lifted her gaze from the tablet screen to him. The fury in her eyes told Jack he'd struck a powerful nerve.

 

He put the tablet back down. “The other girls we took into custody don't need nearly as much makeup as you do. So I'm curious. Why would the Twist Gang beat their best sharpshooter?”

 

“None of yur bloody business, ya tawt!”

 

Such a foul mouth. He had to resist becoming his mother and treating to wash her mouth out with soap. Jack put his elbows on the table and laced his fingers together. “It's my business to know these things, Miss Oxton. In fact, it's my business to follow money trails and see where they lead.”

 

Lena's brown eyes widened for just a moment before she rolled them and scoffed. “Then yur bad at your job. I don't ‘ave money. And when I do, I spend it.”

 

“That you do.” Jack tapped a name into the searchbar of his tablet and pulled up a file of pictures. He opened the first and showed it to her. “Saint Mary's school for girls. Doubles as an orphanage on the shadier side of King's Row. Are you familiar with it?”

 

Lena's gaze refused to linger on the picture. She looked away. “Never h'rd of it.”

 

“Interesting.” Jack scrolled to the next picture. “Since this little girl in the photo looks an awful lot like you.”

 

Lena's eyes darted back to the tablet, then away. “Lots of girls in London have brown hair and pale skin.”

 

“True.” Jack scrolled again, this time to a banking graph. “But it seems, that every time the Twist Gang pulled off a heist, about two days later, Saint Mary's got a very large, anonymous donation.”

 

“Some people in this world are nice.” Lena shrugged. “What does it have to do with me?”

 

“You see, the funny thing is, even when one of the Gang's heists went wrong, Saint Mary's would still receive a donation. Almost like someone was trying to make amends for something.”

 

Lena looked at the wall, lips pursed.

 

“My team can account for every one of the Twist Gang's finances but yours, Miss Oxton. You, despite being a senior member with the highest weapon's skill and proficiency in all of London, you seem to live in almost poverty compared to the other members of your… family.”

 

Still, she didn't look at him.

 

“I can imagine how it went,” Jack said, turning the tablet off. “Young girl in a ramshackle orphanage. Just wants a roof over her head and someone to care about her. Money would never hurt. Someone came along, nice, probably handsome. They made the outlaw life sound good. All you'd have to do was steal some things from some rich people. They'd never notice. And then you turn around years later and you're trafficking illegal weapons, military hardware, robbing high value targets. By then it was too late to get out, am I right?”

 

The corner of Lena's mouth crimped just the smallest fraction.

 

“But that young lady wasn’t a bad person. Just in a bad situation. And maybe she did the only thing she could to give back. Donating the blood money that came her way… and then skimming off the gang’s account when she didn’t have enough. She didn’t want any other little girl to be preyed on and fall into the life she was trapped in.”

 

Lena’s jaw clenched and she swallowed. A bead of sweat rolled down her temple.

 

Jack tucked the tablet back under his arm and leaned back in his chair. “I want to give you a choice, Miss Oxton. I don't think you've had one of those in years.

 

Finally, Lena tilted her head just enough to look at him out of the corner of her eye.

 

“Your first option is to tell me to go to hell and face a judge. You’ll be tried as an adult and spend the rest of your life in prison.”

 

Lena scoffed.

 

“You're other option, is to leave your life of crime behind, and join Blackwatch.”

 

Her head turned toward him, confused expression on her face. “Wot?”

 

He was sure Gabe had a similar expression right now. “You're a crack shot, Miss Oxton. From what I’ve been told from my agents, a damn good get away driver. You know how to work in a team, and you know how to work on your own. You're already accustomed to a more... flexible set of rules.”

 

“And I could just as easy put a bullet between yur eyes from a half-mile.” She glared at him. “What's your angle, bobbie?”

 

“My angle?” Jack stretched his neck from side to side, yawning. He wanted the girl to work herself up and think the worst. But she was good. She'd been in this life a long time. He couldn't bullshit her. “I don't have an angle. Whether you join my team or go to prison, it makes no difference to me.”

 

“Then why offer?”

 

Jack crossed his arms. “You're a unique individual, Miss Oxton. You walk on the darker side of life, but you have a good heart. Blackwatch needs people like you.”

 

“Just like that?” Lena said, still weary of him like a feral alley cat. “You'll just... welcome me with open arms will ya?”

 

“Trust works both ways, Miss Oxton. I'm trusting that there's goodness in your heart.”

 

“And you?” Lena snapped. “What am I trusting in you, bobbie?”

 

Jack smiled at her. “That my basic training you'll have to pass won't kill you.”

 

She smirked back at him. “I'll pass yur little test. But I'll only join on one condition.”

 

Jack arched and eyebrow. She was in no position to barter. Out of curiosity, Jack gave in. “And what would that be?”

 

“Ya stop callin' me Miss Oxton.” She reached out her chained hand. “It's Lena, bobbie.”

 

“Commander Morrison.” Jack took her hand and shook it. “You'll call me Sir.” He touched his thumb to the DNA pad and the manacles unlocked.

 

Lena jerked her hands back, rubbing her wrists and still looking at Jack like he was about to raise a hand to her.

 

“Report to medical and have your bruises treated. Don't be startled by Doctor Winston, it will take some time to get used to him. Once you're done there, report to you room. Fourth floor, wing E, room four-fourteen. You'll find your new uniform and body armor waiting. If they don't fit, call the quartermaster and have her find you something that does. You're training begins at oh-eight-hundred tomorrow morning. You'll be at my office five minutes before. Understood?”

 

“Just like that?” she asked again, sounded more awed than cynical.

 

“Just like that, Lena.”

 

She looked at him askance. “‘ow do ya know I'm not gonna run off?”

 

“Like I said,” Jack said, raising from his seat. “Trust. And get something to eat while you're at it. You look like you're nothing but bones. Mess is on the ground floor. Follow your nose.”

 

He had to all but crow-bar her out of the chair and kick her out of the cage. He issued her an official Overwatch tablet, with a map feature already pulled up with important places flagged and his office highlighted. Once she had got over her shock, he sent her on her way and let himself into the observation room.

 

Gabe was waiting for him. He didn't look mad... but he didn't look happy either. It mostly looked like he was holding back his two cents. Jack closed the door so their conversation would stay between them.

 

“If you don't say what's on you mind I think you might explode.”

 

Gabe sighed heavily. “Are you sure you're up to this?”

 

“If I wasn't, do you think I'd take her on? She's proficient in a variety of small arms. She can drive anything you stick her in. Have you tried driving in London traffic? You don't. You sit and crawl. And she managed to get away from every single heist in a car. She's an asset better utilized for good than letting her rot in prison. She deserves another chance.”

 

“I'm not saying she doesn't. I just want you to know, you need to be firm with her. If you're going to bring her around, you can't be her friend. You need to be her commander. She's not a little girl that needs to be adopted and cared for.”

 

Jack's heart clenched. It'd been a little over a year of the war being over. He was supposed to be working talking about adoption into their morning breakfast routine... not still waiting for things to settle so they could pick a date. They should be talking about if they'd want a boy or a girl. He pushed his disappointment aside and shrugged.

 

“She'll impress you,” Jack said. “Sometimes you just have to show someone a little faith when they need it most.”

 

Gabe smiled. “I know you'll whip her into shape, _oro_.” He came forward, pulling Jack into a hug.

 

Jack melted against him, their lips meeting in a long, lingering kiss.

 

“Missed you,” Gabe said.

 

“How was Egypt?”

 

“Hot. Sandy.”

 

Jack chuckled. “You should have felt right at home. LA's a desert.”

 

“Would have rather been here with you.”

 

Jack wrapped his arms around Gabe's waist. “Agreed.”

 

“My place for dinner, or yours?”

 

Another wave of disappointment welled up that Jack had to tamp down. “Yours. I'm sure you have an early morning.”

  
  


\--

  
  


“What's his name?”

 

Jack looked away from the window of their hiding place and lowered his rifle. “What part of 'be quiet' escaped you, Lena?”

 

The little Brit looked up at him from cleaning her dual pistols and gave him a lopsided grin. “Wot? We're gonna be stuck here till EVAC. You can't expect me to be quiet that whole time.” She went back to cleaning her guns. “So what's his name?”

 

With a sigh, Jack stepped away from the window to stand beside the overturned crate that served as Lena's seat. “Who?”

 

She kept her eyes on her pulse pistol, striping it down to parts to clean. “Whoever that ring belongs to.”

 

Jack lifted an eyebrow at her. “What ring?”

 

She scoffed and looked up at him with and annoyed-pissy look that all seventeen-year old girls seemed to possess. “I've got good eyes, Pops.” She jerked her head at him before going back to wiping down the pistol parts. “Between your dogtags. Gold. Got something written on the inside of the band.”

 

Jack was glad he held his rifle or he’d have been tempted to touch the ring.

 

“Looks like a men's size ten, maybe ten and a half. Could be yours, but I peg you at a nine and a half. So... what's his name?”

 

“Keep your mind on the mission, Lena. We're not out of the woods yet.”

 

Lena put the pistol back together, loaded it, then pulled the second one apart. “Emily.”

 

Apparently she wasn't going to be quiet. Jack sat down next to her on the scant room left on her crate. “Emily?”

 

Lena scrubbed the little cleaning cloth harder across the sliver weapon. “If ya say anything, I'll deny it.”

 

“Blackwatch is good at keeping things to itself.”

 

Lena kept scrubbing. “She was this bird that lived in the posh end of King's Row. Redhead, freckles. Real sweet. We dated for a while.”

 

Jack arched an eyebrow but said nothing.

 

“Bought a ring,” Lena continued, cleaning the same piece again. “Stupid. We was just kids. Then she found out about Twist and that was the end of that.”

 

“I'm sorry,” he said.

 

She shrugged, then pulled a necklace out from a pocket of her brown bomber jacket. A simple silver ring with a tiny diamond hung from a silver chain. “Just sayin'.” She tucked the necklace back into it's pocket and went back to cleaning. “I been where you been.”

 

Jack let his rifle rest on his knees as he pulled his dogtags out. He rubbed the ring between his thumb and finger. “It's a promise,” he said.

 

Lena's cleaning stopped and she looked up at him. “How long that promise been around your neck?”

 

Jack shrugged. “Too long.”

 

She nodded. “Still good? Or it a memory?”

 

Jack glanced at her. She really was far more nosey since she'd settled into her new Blackwatch life. He’d indulge her just this once. After all, summer had come and gone yet again. “Still good.” He tucked the ring back under his black hoodie. “Now be quiet and wait for Gérard's signal.”

 

There was about two minutes of quiet.

 

“Happy for ya, pops,” Lena muttered. “Yur gonna make a great housewife one day.”

 

He reached out and put a hand on her shoulder. “You're a good kid, Lena. Next day off, fly back home and see if you can't find your Emily and tell her you've gone legit.”

 

Lena shook her head. “Don't think so. Long distance never works out.”

 

The com lines crackled, cutting off what Jack was about to say. He touched his earpiece instead. Gérard's garbled voice came over the line. “—hostiles... bound... clicks nor—”

 

Lena snapped her pistol back together in two seconds flat. “Thought this night was too boring anyways.”

 

Jack lifted his rifle, ejecting the nearly spent clip and slapping in a new one. “Gérard does have a knack for finding trouble.”

  
  


\--

  
  


Gérard was all grins as Lena and Jack helped him off the plane and into his wife's... not exactly loving arms. Amélie was too busy throwing them up in the air, ranting about how worried her some expletive in French husband made her on a near daily basis. Which was something, considering she ran missions with Gabriel and Reinhardt and should have nerves of steel by now.

 

Jack released the agent into his wife’s… tender custody, listening to Amélie swear up and down if Gérard got himself killed she was going to divorce him.

 

Ah, married life.

 

He checked his tablet. September thirtieth. He sighed. Fall was here again. It’d be Halloween before he knew it. It felt like everything was a blur of intel, missions, debriefings, only to go right back to intel and start over again.

 

Lena slapped him hard on the shoulder. “Cheers, pops. Good shootin’.” She strutted off, probably to head off base and blow off some steam with a pub crawl.

 

Jack waited on the tarmac, until the ground crew started giving him puzzled glances. When the mechanics had to activity go around him with tool carts, he called it a loss. Shouldering his rifle and picking up his bug-out bag, he headed to his barracks.

 

Bone-deep exhaustion relegated after-action paperwork to the next day. He let himself hope, but the door opened to a dark room. Sighing, he pushed his disappointment aside and went in. The lights flickered on to his preferred setting as he dumped his stuff on the floor. One dehydrated meal and a pot of hot water later he had dinner of “Contents: steak and carrots.” It looked nothing like steak and carrots, more like protein paste stuffed into a vaguely carrot-and-steak-shaped molds. But it was quick and easy, meaning he could get to his shower faster.

 

He didn’t linger long. Rinse, soap, shampoo, notice less gold and more white hairs coming away on his fingers, rise, dry. He’d be completely gray in five years or less. With a sigh—and not for the first time wondering if he could pull off a dye job—he crawled into the king-size bed and drifted to sleep.

 

~

 

“Hey.”

 

Jack whipped around at the voice and touch on his shoulder. He caught his assailant's arm as he reached for the side arm strapped to—

 

“Easy, Jack,” Gabe’s voice cut through the confusion and panic.

 

He relaxed his bone-shattering grip as he blinked, Gabe coming into focus. “Shit. Don’t do that,” he mumbled.

 

“Didn’t used to be such a light sleeper,” Gabe commented, handsome smile turning up his scarred lips.

 

Jack rubbed his face with his hands. “Yeah.” What did he say to that? That he was ten times as paranoid about being jumped in his sleep than he had been years ago?

 

“I’m sorry I missed you on the tarmac,” Gabe said, stripping off his long, blue duster. “I feel like an asshole. But the Watchpoint in Shanghai needed more work and my flight was delayed.”

 

“You’re here now,” Jack said, rolling over and hooking his chin over Gabe’s shoulder. “That’s all that matters.”

 

Gabe turned and kissed him. Jack smiled into it.

 

“Saw the MRE pack. You need to eat better,” Gabe commented between kisses.

 

“Too busy,” Jack said. “Maybe if someone cooked for me.”

 

Gabe chuckled, running his hand down Jack's chest. “I can promise breakfast, but that's it.”

 

“Chorizo and egg burritos?” Jack asked, giving Gabe his best puppy eyes.

 

“With fresh salsa if you have a few tomatoes that haven't gone bad.”

 

Jack grinned, pulling Gabe down into the sheets. “I'll pay in advance.”

 

He stripped Gabe out of his black compression shirt and teasingly tight pants. Gabe was equally swift getting Jack's boxers off.

 

The nightstand crashed to the floor when they found the lube. Jack buried his face half into Gabe's shirt, half into the pillow, breathing deep as the familiar girth breached him. Gabe's fingers traveled over the pale skin that desperately missed his touch. Jack spread his legs wider, rolling with each thrust of Gabe's hips as his fiance groaned sweet nothings into the warm air.

 

~

 

Shifting made Jack's eyes snap open. Gabe sat on the bed, fully dressed, pulling on and lacing his boots. The room was hardly lit, just a few pale shafts of light coming through the cracked blinds. Couldn't have been too much after oh-five-hundred.

 

“Gabe?”

 

He put his foot down and turned. “Sorry, _mi sol._ Didn't mean to wake you.”

 

Jack held back the disappointed whine that wanted to tumble from his lips. “Emergency?”

 

Gabe shook his head and rolled his eyes. “The chairmen of the omnic outreach committee seems to think so, but we'll see. His last emergency was anything but.” He leaned in and pressed a kiss to Jack's forehead. “Rain-check on breakfast?”

 

“Yeah,” Jack said, pushing himself up. “Some other time.” He rubbed his face as Gabe's boots thumped through the room and the door swished closed.

 

Slowly, Jack swung his legs over the bed and shuffled to the little kitchen, pulling out another dehydrated meal and starting a pot of coffee.

  
  


\--

  
  


“You're lucky we don't call for your suspension,” one of the UN councillors snarled.

 

Jack stood at ease, hands clasped loosely behind his back as three people that had never seen conflict in their lives tried to tell him how he should lead his teams. No amount of running them though why the mission had fallen apart got through to them.

 

“This mission was too valuable. It should have been trusted to Strike Commander Reyes. Not his lapdog.”

 

“Clearly the Strike Commander needs to re-evaluate the trust he places in you, Commander Morrison.”

 

He remained quiet, like a good soldier, as his superiors tossed around empty threats. Lena shifted behind him on his right. Gérard elbowed her. They both knew there was nothing that could have been done to salvage the mission. They did the best damage control they could. That's all Jack could ask of them.

 

“Knobheads the lot of 'em,” Lena snapped as they entered HQ. “Not a bleeding one of 'em ever even seen gun, let alone been shot at.”

 

“Posturing,” Gérard said with a shrug. “They have to be able to say they that looked into things and handled them. Just a bit of hot air, _chéri_ , nothing more.”

 

“They didn't have to take it out on pops!” Lena defened. “They should be thanking him! Without him, things would have been worse.”

 

“ _Oui,_ without our fearless leader things could have turned into a bloodbath.”

 

At least they had his back. Before he could thank them for their support, Amélie appeared from around a corner. Her rigid posture and professional frown meant she wasn't here for her husband.

 

“Commander Morrison.”

 

Jack stopped.

 

Amélie's carefully schooled expression waved to uncertainty for an instant. “The Strike Commander wants you in his office.” She hesitated just a fraction too long. “Now. Sir.”

 

“Thank you.” Jack changed his course, Gérard and Lena dogging his steps.

 

“What'd ya think he wants?” Lena asked.

 

“To discus the mission most likely. You two are dismissed.”

 

“With all due respect, Commander,” Gérard said, as he and Lena jogged to keep up. “We might be requested to give our account.”

 

Perhaps. He let them stay with him as he knocked on Gabe's office door. It opened after a moment and all three walked in. Gabe was at his massive desk, several holo-screens all showing different feeds and graphs. He looked up from a pile of tablets.

 

“You requested my presence, Strike Commander.”

 

Gabe's brown eyes narrowed slightly. “Your presence, Commander. Not your lieutenants.”

 

Gérard stepped forward. “Strike Commander Reyes, Sir. Lena and I wished to give you our report.”

 

Gabe rose from his chair. “If I wanted your report, Agent Lacroix, I would have asked for it. You two are dismissed.”

 

“But—” Lena began.

 

“Dismissed,” Gabe repeated.

 

Jack cocked his head toward Lena. “Go.”

 

Both his agents left, the door closing behind them, leaving him and Gabe alone. Jack clasped his hands behind his back, bracing.

 

Gabe's dark eyes blazed with fury for a moment. He sighed, putting his hands on his desk and leaning forward. “Are you alright, _cielo_?”

 

“My team and I are fine,” Jack said. “There were no fatalities on our side.”

 

“Good. I'm glad.” Gabe let out a breath and slumped back into his seat, face cradled in his hand. “Why didn't you stick to the plan?”

 

Jack worked his jaw back and forth to cut off the curt reply he'd been wanting to snap at _someone_ all day. “I made a call in the moment with the information that I had. The team's well being and covert status took precedence over completion.”

 

The deepening of Gabe's frown and the slight narrowing of his eyes made Jack sigh inwardly.

 

“The mission was important, Jack.”

 

“I felt the security of my team to live and try again was paramount to salvaging a mission already too far gone to save.”

 

The frown deepened some more. “That's not the call I would have made.”

 

 _But you weren't there to make it._ Jack kept that retort firmly behind his teeth. “I can only go with the intel I had.”

 

Gabe got that fighting look in his eyes. “You should have pressed the advantage when you had it.”

 

“That would have exposed my team to unnecessary danger. I will not risk lives for the sake of expediency.”

 

“We are a military force. Soldiers die in the line of duty.”

 

“We are a peacekeeping force,” Jack corrected.

 

“Regardless, we can't have high-priority missions fail. Their high-priority for a reason.”

 

“I know.” Jack let his arms leave his sides and cross over his chest. “But we can't lose sight of our humanity. That's why you have me heading Blackwatch, isn't it?”

 

Gabe sighed and the fight left his eyes. “Exactly, _mi sol_ , exactly.”

  
  


\--

  
  


Lena pulled the headphone away from her ear. “Pops... you know anything about Santa Fe?”

 

Jack glanced at Gérard in the driver's seat. The handsome Frenchman was covered in dirt and blood, but had still refused to give up his hard won position as convoy driver. Lena hardly let anyone else drive. He was in no condition to head into another mission. “No.” Was it more Deadlock activity? Or maybe it had something to do with that new Talon group that had popped up on Overwatch's radar. “What's the mission?”

 

Lena shook her head, putting the headphone back to her ear. “Uh, not a mission a... commotion.”

 

Gérard turned, arching an eyebrow at Jack. “A commotion we don't know about? And that we're not being deployed on?”

 

Jack beckoned Lena to hand over the earpiece.

 

Lena head up a finger, brow furrowed. “Hang on a tic.” Her eyes widened and she lower the ear piece. “Bloody 'ell. Pops, yur never going to believe what yur BFF did.”

 

~

 

Jack stood off to the side of the crowded room as he watched Lena talking with the young boy next to Gabe. The wide-eyed ball of dust and brown, wavy hair couldn't have been more than fourteen. Lena tapped the metal harness the boy wore over his red-plaid shirt and giggled that bubbly little laugh of hers. That got the boy to finally crack a smile.

 

“You've been quiet.”

 

Jack cocked his head at Angela who stood at his side. He shrugged. “Just trying to wrap my mind around it,” he told her. “Was Gabe being deliberately vague in his explanations?”

 

“I gave him the dumbed down version,” the young science officer said, pushing up her glasses. “Unless you became an expert on chronal disassociation overnight?”

 

Jack shook his head. “Enlighten me.”

 

“Jesse's mother was a brilliant scientist, working on teleportation tech. From what we could gather from her surviving notes, she stumbled upon a way to... teleport through time.”

 

“Time travel. I don't have ten scientific degrees but I at least got that part of the story.”

 

“I have twelve degrees,” she muttered under her breath before continuing. “In her experimentation, it seems she wanted to test the capabilities of this 'blinking' as she called it and used both herself and her young son to test it.”

 

“Again, got that layman's term part of the story. Explain to me how a fifteen year old from the twenty-first century ended up in the old west.”

 

“It seems the what allowed for blinking was something in Doctor McCree's DNA. With the proper control apparatus, from her notes, apparently she could blink into the past. From the limited time I've had to interview her son, it seems Doctor McCree thought with the addition of more of that certain DNA, she could go farther back in time. But something went wrong.”

 

“Doesn't it always?” Jack shook his head. If he had a son, they would be staying at home, playing with other children, having sleep overs, going to school. He would never bring his work home with him for just that reason. Something always went wrong.

 

“It'll take some time for me to put together what exactly happened, but it seems the control apparatus... unlocked the blinking gene in young Jesse. All he remembers of the incident, was a bright light, his mother yelling, and then, he was in pre-united states New Mexico. From there, his own blinking took him randomly through time.”

 

“Poor kid,” Jack said, looking at the young man. “How long has he been flung through the timeline?”

 

“With chronal disassociation it's impossible to say. What might feel like moments to him could be years for us.”

 

“Then when was the incident?”

 

“Sixty years ago.”

 

Jack let out a low whistle. “Sixty years. Why does he look fifteen?”

 

Angela gave a less than scientific shrug. “Our understanding of chronal disassociation is in it's infancy. If I had to guess, I would say because he's not anchored to time like we are, and ageing at his own pace, whatever that might be.”

 

“Hard enough being a teen these days.” He tilted his head toward Angela. “Could Doctor McCree's research be harnessed by others?”

 

“Planning a trip back in time, Commander Morrison?”

 

Jack shook his head. “At it's best, time travel is dangerous. The last thing Overwatch needs is time hopping terrorists changing the past.” He didn't even want to contemplate the hell that would break lose. How would they police all of time? The planet was hard enough.

 

“At the moment, the timeline is safe. We don't know what about the McCree's DNA allowed the blinking, or if it was something naturally occurring, or lab created. I fear that without Doctor McCree herself, we'll never know.”

 

“His mother wasn't with him when you found the boy?”

 

Angela shook her head. “No. Jesse doesn't know what happened to her and hasn't seen her since the incident. The Strike Commander looked for her as best he could.”

 

Jack turned to regard the scientist. “He was part of your project?”

 

Angela gave him a shocked look. “You were unaware of project slipstream?”

 

“Apparently so.” Jack crossed his arms. “Tell me.”

 

“Um.” She glanced at Gabe who was talking with Jesse and Lena, his back to them.

 

“It's out in the open now, Doctor, and if you don't think I'll be getting a full debriefing soon you're mistaken.”

 

She sighed. “If the Strike Commander felt you shouldn't have clearance—”

 

“The only person that has more clearance that me is the Strike Commander himself. So either you tell me now, or we can both go the Strike Commander's office and you can tell me there.” He didn't like strong arming her like this, but if Gabe wouldn't even mention something of this magnitude to him, he damn sure wanted to know why.

 

“Some time ago I stumbled upon the McCree files in the database.”

 

“You rummage around there often?” Jack asked.

 

“You'd be surprised, Commander, how much information is hidden in that digital treasure trove. But yes. I do. All of my projects require research. Minerva's database is boundless with all the information acquired by Overwatch. The Strike Commander was interested in teleportation technology, and asked to see if it was possible. While researching, I found the McCree notes and investigated.”

 

“And how did you get the boy back?”

 

Angela grinned. “It was an enjoyable challenge. With some sleepless nights and some translation help from the Strike Commander, I back tracked the unique signature that blinking produces and tracked it to New Mexico. I'd recreated the controlling apparatus, but it needed someone to wear and activate it. The Strike Commander volunteered and then....” She took off her glasses and used her sleeve to clean them.

 

“And then what?”

 

The Doctor her bit her lip and gave him a sheepish look. “And then he disappeared.”

 

Jack stared at her for three full seconds. “He. What.”

 

“It's wasn't something that either of us expected,” Angela was quick to clarify. “I'd hoped the apparatus would act like an anchor for Doctor McCree and bring her back out of the time stream, but it... dragged the Strike Commander _into_ the flow of time to young Jesse.”

 

Holy shit! Gabe had been messing around with time itself?

 

“I retrieved them!” Angela squeaked when Jack only stared at her without speaking. “And neither of them were hurt! All it took was a little tweaking to the apparatus and it brought them both back.”

 

Jack was going to strangle Gabe the first moment he got alone with the idiot. Which meant the strangling would probably happen in four or five weeks. He pushed his anger and worry down. What's done is done. Nothing he could do about it. “And Doctor McCree?”

 

“Remains missing, but I'm still looking for her.”

 

“The light show on the kid's chest, that's what keeps him here?”

 

“Yes. The chronal accelerator keeps him grounded in the present, but perhaps with some tinkering—”

 

“I think the boy has had enough _tinkering_ with time for now, Angela.”

 

“ _Ja, ja_ , you're very right. He has a lot of adjusting to do.”

 

“Thank you for the briefing.”

 

Angela left, going over to Jesse and Lena as Doctor Winston introduced himself to the boy. Jack had to give the teen credit, he was all smiles and fascination as he meet the only gorilla surgeon on Earth.

 

Someone stepped up behind him and Jack felt a hand on his shoulder. He forced himself not to grab the arm and slam whoever it belonged to into the nearest wall. Swiss HQ. Not a back alley in the heart of enemy territory.

 

“Commander Morrison.”

 

Jack looked over his shoulder. “Strike Commander.”

 

“You have a minute?”

 

Jack shrugged. This had better be a debriefing and a damn good reason he hadn't brought him in on this project.

 

“I need to speak with you. Alone.”

 

Jack nodded, uncrossing his arms and following Gabe to his office.

 

“It's about Jesse,” Gabe said when the door swished closed.

 

Good. A debriefing. “Are you reading me into the project?” Or going to apologize for leaving him out of it?

 

“Not exactly.”

 

Jack arched an eyebrow.

 

Gabe sighed. “He's the world's first time traveler. Everyone wants to get their hands on him. The UN, the US Government, I have to beat Angie away from him with a stick.”

 

“And what, you want me to run protection on him?” Jack asked, already working out the details of who he could spare for babysitting duty.

 

“I want to adopt him.”

 

Jack froze, arms half-crossed, thoughts sputtering and dying out into a cold, blank void.

 

“His mother is MIA,” Gabe continued. “He has no living kin and if I send him back to New Mexico the US will have him in an experimental warehouse the moment the plane touches down. As Strike Commander, I can protect him from all of that. I just need to make it official.”

 

Jack felt like his heart was an old, beat up truck, rattling so hard it would fall to pieces at any moment. “Have... Have you talked to him about it?” It was a stall, but he needed the time to pull himself together.

 

Gabe nodded, then smiled softly. “Jesse's a good kid, Jack. Reminds me of you, all hope and optimism even after everything he's been through. I don't want some faceless agency or cold hearted scientist to rob him of that.”

 

Jack forced a smile onto his face. “I want what's best for the boy, same as you. He deserves some stability in his life. You're the best person to give him that.”

 

“So... you're alright with this?”

 

“Of course I am.” He would rather have it been _them_ adopting, not just Gabe _._

 

“Thank you.” Gabe walked to his desk and pulled up a screen.

 

The adoption paperwork was already filled out and done. With a tap, Gabe sent them. Jack felt his heart crack. A forgone conclusion then. This meeting was just a formality. It was the right thing to do, the only thing to do to protect Jesse.

 

So why did he _hurt_ so damn much?

 

Gabe came back around, placing a kiss on Jack's cheek. “I knew you would understand.”

  
  


\--

  
  


“ _Mon Dieu!_ ” Gérard exclaimed, falling face first into the safe house bed. His pack tumbled off the side to the ground, but the French sniper didn't even stir as his equipment spilled out onto the floor.

 

Jack wanted to do the same on the couch, but forced himself to the tiny washroom for a much needed shower and shave. Gérard could pull off a beard. Jack's would make him look more like Santa Claus than dashing. And Lena would have no shortage of jokes about asking him for toys or if she could pet his reindeer.

 

Half an hour later and Gérard hadn't moved. The TV was Jack’s then. He took up a seat on the couch and flicked on the holo-screen.

 

Nothing. Nothing. Infomercial. Nothing. Safe houses got the worst reception. The only channel with reception that wasn't trying to sell something was one of those celebrity spotting shows. He rolled his eyes. Normally, he'd have to be strapped to a table and forced to watch it, but they were they first people in a month that weren't shooting at him. He left the channel on and went in search of food.

 

He opened the little pantry and cringed. Bottles of cheese wiz, twinkies, baked beans in tomato sauce, and loaves of white bread. He closed his eyes and breathed out slowly to cool his temper. Lena. That little snot. Admin duty was a punishment, not a chance to be cheeky. What was he going to do with that girl?

 

Nothing much he could do now. He took out a loaf of bread and two cans of beans. Gérard's refined palate was just going to have to deal.

 

“And you'll never guess who our cameras caught yet again out on the town,” the white noise of the TV droned as Jack headed for the one burner stove. “That's right, the Strike Commander of Overwatch himself, Gabriel Reyes.”

 

Jack's head and attention snapped toward the TV. There on the screen, was Gabe's unmistakable form, dressed in a smart black suit, a jewel of a woman hanging off his arm.

 

“The normally camera shy Commander was seen earlier today at the swanky, upscale French restaurant _Le Petit Paris_ with the French ambassador Renee Leroy.”

 

The picture changed to Gabe pulling out the chair for the ambassador. She beamed, her tiny hand lightly placed on Gabe's bicep.

 

“For those of you keeping score, that a whopping three times this week the couple have been spotting getting dinner together.”

 

Another picture of the two sitting across from one another. She was laughing, Gabe was giving her that heart-fluttering smile Jack thought was only for him.

 

“Could we be witnessing the start of an international romance?” The camera zoomed in on Gabe's left hand. “I don't see a ring, Renee. That is one prime batchlor to tie down. Could be wedding bells in—”

 

The holo-screen cut out. Jack turned as Gérard scoffed.

 

“Filthy muckrakers,” he said, tossing the remote onto the couch. “Clearly that's a business lunch. He waved a hand at the screen. “ _Le Petit Paris?_ That's where you go to slum it, as the Americans say. They didn't even have wine.” He crossed his arms and leaned against the wall. “It's nothing, _Patron_.”

 

Somehow, Jack managed to scrape together the tatters of his wounded pride and scoff. “Why would I care what the Strike Commander does?”

 

Gérard's expression softened and his gaze flicked to Jack's hands.

 

Jack looked down.

 

He'd crushed the cans without noticing. Orange tomato sauce dribbled down his fingers to pool in the mess of beans at his feet. Several drops of crimson dotted the chaos.

 

“Cheese wiz and bread in the pantry,” Jack said, tossing the bloodied cans into the sink. “You can thank Lena for that. I'll clean this up.”

 

“ _Patron_ ,” Gérard said, a little quieter. “It's nothing. You know that.”

 

“The mission isn't over yet. Get something to eat and go to sleep. I'll take first watch.”

 

“ _Oui, Patron.”_

 

Jack turned back to the sink to clean his hands. What did it matter if that woman had seen Gabe more in one week than he had in four months? It didn't matter. It didn't bother him.

 

He wouldn’t let it bother him.

  
  


\--

  
  


The grenade landed three feet away. Jack's brain supplied him two facts simultaneously. It's close enough to kill you. It's too late to run.

 

“Pops! Look out!” Lena appeared out of nowhere, snatching up the grenade and pulling back to throw.

 

The weapon exploded, knocking Jack flat on his ass, ears ringing.

 

Lena!

 

He struggled to right himself, to get his bearings as the world pitched and heaved under him. He turned, rifle sweeping for hostiles. His sights found one just in time to watch a sniper round paint the wall behind him red.

 

Lena lay in a heap in the dirt. Jack tossed his weapon aside and ran to her, dropping to his knees. She wasn't moving, but still breaking. What was remained of her left arm was mangled down the elbow. He ripped off his belt, looping it above the joint and cinching it tight to stop the bleeding. As gingerly as he could, he scooped her up into his arms.

 

“Gérard! Cover fire! Fall back! Jesse bring the plane in now! Agent down!” He didn't spare the attention to listen to their responses.

 

Clutching Lena to his chest, he sprinted for cover as the rooftop above them exploded with covering fire. Bullets whizzed all around him.

 

“Don't you punk out on me soldier,” Jack said, sliding behind a demolished wall. “I didn't hire a quitter into my ranks.” He'd never noticed how very small the little Brit was. Five foot four had always seemed so large with sass and spunk behind it. Now, it felt like she was a tiny bit of tissue paper in his arms.

 

“Thunderbird inbound,” Jesse's voice crackled over the com line. “Setting her down in thirty.”

 

“Hang in there, Kid,” Jack whispered. “Just hang in there.”

 

~

 

Gérard sat on the jumpseat across from Jack's place on the floor. His green eyes standing out from the dark camo paint smeared over his face. Jack wanted to say something to him, some encouraging words, but he couldn't spare them. Right now, they were all for Lena.

 

He dabbed away the sweat trickling down her brow, doing his best not to get mud in any of the hasilty field dressed lacerations on her face and neck. “Easy, Kid. Just relax. I got you.”

 

“HQ is calling,” Jesse shouted back over his shoulder. They want a report.”

 

Jack's gaze swept up to Gérard. He shouldn't ask that of him but—

 

“I'll take it,” the sniper said. “Stay with her.” Carefully, he set his weapon aside and went to the cockpit.

 

Lena's good hand suddenly gripped Jack's arm.

 

Jack hugged her closer. “Relax. You're safe.”

 

“P-Pops?”

 

“I'm here.” Jack closed his eyes to hold back the tear threatening to escape.

 

“I....” Her voice was so weak he could barely hear it over the Thunderbird's engines. “I don't wanta die.”

 

“You'll be alright,” he said as her head rolled onto the nape of his neck. “I promise.”

 

~

 

Winston walked out of the operation room. Jack, Gérard, and Jesse all shot to their feet.

 

“She's weak but stable,” Winston said before they could ask. “Her arm was too damaged to save.”

 

Gérard swore softly in French.

 

“But she's going to be okay, right?” Jesse asked, kneading his now infamous cowboy hat in his hands.

 

Winston nodded. “She's strong. Before you know it, she'll be back on her feet.”

 

“Can I see her?” Jack asked.

 

The doctor nodded. All of them stepped forward.

 

“Just Jack for now,” Winston said. “She only just woke up and I don’t want her overwhelmed.”

 

“I'll tell her hi for you two,” Jack said, following the Doctor back to the recovery rooms.

 

When they were outside her door, Winston stopped him. “I want to start a cyber-graft as soon as possible,” he said. “Before the wound completely closes.”

 

Jack balked at the mention of the experimental surgery. “Those are dangerous.”

 

“I know. But if we do it now, the graph will bond to the raw nerves and she can have a top quality prosthetic. You're her medical proxy. If you think that would be something she wants....”

 

Jack took a breath. There was no way Lena would retire without a fight. She would battle tooth and nail to stay in the field. “Prep it. I'll ask her, but I know she's going to want something that will have the same reaction times as her original limb.”

 

“She's in the best hands possible, Jack.” The gentle giant pulled him into a hug. “I'll do everything I can to ensure her new limb is as good as the last.”

 

“Thank you,” Jack said, returning the hug and letting the Doctor go.

 

“Oi,” came the tired greeting when Jack opened the door. “Wha'cha lookin' at, ya twat?”

 

“Jesse spend a good deal of time in the old west and he has a cleaner vocabulary than you do.” Jack commented, closing the door.

 

Lena shrugged her slender shoulders. “I'm an acquired taste.”

 

He pulled a chair over and sat down at her bedside. “How you feeling?”

 

“Like a lorry hit me.” She looked over her shoulder and waved the stump of her left arm at a little plastic cup on the bedside table. “Give a girl a _hand_ would ya, pops?”

 

“Puns? Now?”

 

She smiled at him. “What? You don't like my _off hand_ remark?”

 

“Lena.”

 

“Don't get so serious on me, pops,” she scoffed. “So what? It's just one arm, I have a spare that works just fine.”

 

“Do not treat this so lightly!” Jack snapped.

 

She flinched at his raised voice.

 

He sighed. “I'm sorry. I didn't mean to snap like that.”

 

“It's alright, pops. You're under a lot of stress. I didn't help that.”

 

“You saved my life, Lena.”

 

She shrugged. “You would have done the same for me.” She reached out and took his hand. “We're even now.”

 

“How so?”

 

“You saved me from Twist and prison. It's one-one now.” She settled back on her pillows. “I'm totally going to save your life more than you save mine.”

 

Jack cracked a smile. “We'll see.”

 

~

 

A week later Amélie knocked on the door and let herself in. Jack had her set the giant bouquet of yellow daisies from her and Gérard on the table across from Lena's bed as quietly as possible. The grafting surgery had really taken the fight out of her. She needed to sleep and he’d be damned if he’d let anyone disturb her.

 

“Gabriel wants to know when you're coming back to headquarters,” Amélie whispered.

 

A week of little food and less sleep so he could watch over Lena's recovery made Jack's patience thin. “When I'm damn good and ready,” he hissed. “Gérard can handle day to day just fine.”

 

“ _Oui_ , I know. But—”

 

“Tell him I'm using leave time.”

 

“But—”

 

Jack dismissed her with a wave of his hand and took up his post at Lena's side.

 

~

 

A week and a half later, Lena was cleared to travel back home. Her cyber-graph had bonded well and was ready for a new limb. Jesse was their private pilot home, chatting Lena's ear off about all the gossip she'd missed.

 

Jack turned his personal phone back on after a week of being off to avoid Gabe's wrath.

 

He hadn't realized Gabe would make things so easy.

 

No messages. No voice mails.

 

Not a single call.

  
  


\--

  
  


Jack sat alone in the living room of his parent's farm house, watching the soft snowfall from his place beside the window. His father had already gone to bed hours ago. Just because it's Christmas doesn't mean the mornin’ chores don't need doing, was John Morrison's motto around this time of year.

 

His mother had taken to Lena like she was her own granddaughter. They were in the kitchen even now, his mother showing his top field agent how to bake a Morrison Family pecan pie. It was for the best they'd bonded. Lena was the closest thing his mother was ever going to get to a grandchild. The hot chocolate on his tongue turned bitter.

 

He checked his phone again. No calls. No messages. He wrestled with the idea of calling Gabe. He sighed and put the phone back in his hoodie pocket. It would have just rang for ten minutes and dumped him to voicemail, like all twenty tries before.

 

It was for the best. He hadn't been home for christmas in years. They'd always gone to LA. It was the one time a year all the scattered Reyes clan came together.

 

His phone rang. For a moment, he stared at his pocket, unbelieving. It rang again. Not a dream then. He pulled it out. Three-two-three area code? LA? He put the phone to his ear. “Gabe?”

 

Laughing and music came over the line. “Where are you, white brother?”

 

It sounded like Gabe's youngest sister. “Isadora?”

 

“Izzy!” she laughed. “How many times have I told you to call me Izzy? You're family.”

 

Jack gut twisted. “Sorry, just... caught me off guard.”

 

“Where are you?” she repeated. “It's Christmas! Gabe brought his little time traveler son and he's eating all the _tamales_ but I have some stashed for you.”

 

His gut twisted again. Just kill him now that he was missing out on Maria's _tamales_. “I'm sorry to miss out this year. But I'm really very busy—”

 

“Bullshit!” Izzy snort-laughed. Jack smiled, knowing there must be a half empty bottle of something close by. “I know you're all like, the most powerful guy ever, but no one turns down Maria's _tamales_.”

 

“I... I wasn't invited this year,” Jack said. He hadn't wanted to say it outloud. If he said it outloud, it would be real. It wouldn't be him deciding to go home, it would be him having nowhere else to go _but_ home.

 

“Fuck off, you're joking! White-bread you're family. Family don't need invitations. Speaking of invitations, when the hell is the wedding? Do you have any idea how many dresses I’ve bought for it? I have a blue, a red, a green, purple. Long, short, strapless, sleeves. Do you know how much I hate dresses?”

 

Jack smiled. “Probably as much as your sisters hate going shopping with you for them.”

 

“Exactly! That shows you how long I’ve been preparing for this. Please tell me you two have set a date. Oh! A date and in Spain! I’ve always wanted to go to Spain.”

 

“Low sin-toe,” Jack said, his smile fading. “No date yet.” But Spain would be beautiful….

 

“Follame!” Izzy swore. “Are you kidding? _Still_?”

 

This was the worst part. Having to disappoint his adorable would-be sister-in-law yet again. “We are busy saving the world you know,” he tried to say lightly despite the weight on his shoulders.

 

“Jack it’s been _years_!”

 

The way she stressed years drove another nail into his heart. “I know. One day.”

 

“Nope. That’s it. I’m done being nice. You get your ass here now. I’m going to fix this. Hey!” It sounded liked she pulled the phone away. “Hey you, _pendejo_ I'm talking to you. Why the hell is your fiancé alone on Christmas?”

 

“Izzy, it's fine,” Jack said, quickly. “I went to visit my family. Don't call him over it's fine.”

 

“No shit I'm talking to you!” Izzy continued. “High and mighty Strike Commander better get on the phone and get my white brother here stat!” She slipped into Spanish. There was rustling, the music faded in and out like a hand was trying to cover the receiver.

 

Hushed, rumbling Spanish floated over the line. Jack's heart pounded. “Really, I don't what to interrupt. Izzy, just hang up and get some water. It's—”

 

“Jack?”

 

He flinched as Gabe came on the line. “Izzy drunk dialed me,” he said, lamely. “It's fine. Go back to the party.”

 

There was just music and chatter. He expected the click of the line disconnecting any moment.

 

“ _Abuela_ was asking about you,” Gabe said. “She sends her love.”

 

Jack closed his eyes and pressed his forehead against the cold window pane. “Tell her I say hi. Mom and Dad are disappointed they don't get to meet you. Again.”

 

Another awkward pause filled by Christmas music.

 

Jack caved first. “How's Jesse doing?”

 

“He's good.”

 

Jack grit his teeth. “Everyone doing good?”

 

“Yeah. Yeah. Everyone's fine.”

 

More silence. Then Gabe caved.

 

“How's the farm?”

 

“Same as always.”

 

“Good.”

 

“Mom...” _Wants to know why she's meeting one of my agents and not my husband._ He sighed. “Mom sends her love to everyone.”

 

“Say thanks and hi for us.”

 

“Merry Christmas, Gabe.”

 

“Merry Christmas, Jack.” Another long pause. “Well... bye.”

 

“Oh no!” Izzy was back. “No way, that was lame and that doesn't sound like white bread is on his way!”

 

“Izzy, stop,” Gabe said.

 

The phone shuffled, rapid fire Spanish flying back and forth. It was suddenly cut off. Jack checked his phone. Yeah. Line was dead. He held onto it, waiting to see if one of them would call back.

 

The time on the phone changed from two am to two thirty-five. Jack took a deep breath. More than enough time to call back. He switched off the phone, left it on the window sill, and stood. He went to the door, tossing on a jacket. There was plenty of chores to he could finish so his father could have a day off.

  
  


\--

  
  


Jesse whistled as Lena pulled a straight from Hollywood movie and blew on the barrels of her guns.

 

“And that, little brother, is how you shoot ten targets in three seconds.”

 

Jesse pushed his hat back, staring at the smoking targets. “And I thought I was fast.”

 

“I'm that good.” Lena holstered her pistols and hooked her thumbs in her belt loops, the metal of her left hand clanking on her new BAMF belt buckle.

 

Jack really wished she wouldn’t wear it, but it’d been a get-well present from Jesse. He didn’t have the heart to tell her no. Even if it was tacky as hell.

 

“Bet I could empty a clip faster,” Jesse baited.

 

“But could you hit anything?” Lena shot back, grinning.

 

“Only one way to find out.”

 

“Lena,” Jack broke in before they could devolve into a pointless shooting match.

 

Both kids turned toward him. “You're testing your new arm. Not pushing it's limits.” He turned his gaze to Jesse who took off his hat and looked like a kicked puppy. “Doctor Winston would appreciate it if you both remembered that.”

 

“Sorry, Sir,” Jesse said. “Won't forget again.”

 

“Ah, pops. It's fine.” Lena lifted her new arm, curling and uncurling the bronze fingers. “Not even a little cramp. This is high quality, precision German engineering right here.”

 

“Regardless,” Jack said. “We're slowly working you back up to field readiness.”

 

“Commander Morrison, Sir,” Jesse said, taking a half-step forward. “Do you think... is Blackwatch in need of another agent?”

 

Jack lifted an eyebrow at him.

 

“I was only wonderin',” Jesse hurried to say. “I've been in training for two years now. I'm ready for the field.”

 

“Your father—” God. It still took a little piece of his heart every time he said it. “—will have to be the judge of that.”

 

“ _Papi_ doesn't let me do anything,” Jesse grumbled. “I fly drop off and EVAC and I can do so much more to help.”

 

“I was his age when you took me in,” Lena added, unhelpfully.

 

Jack shook his head. “Not my call. If I took you on, Ga—your father would have my head.” If Gabriel would even speak to him. The awkward phone call on Christmas months ago had been the last time they spoke.

 

“You'll talk to him for me, won't you Commander Morrison?” Jesse asked.

 

“I don't think he'll listen to me.”

 

“Reinhardt says you're the only one _papi_ listens too.”

 

Jack sighed. If the SIC believed that he was either oblvious, or Overwatch was doomed. He couldn't remember the last time Gabriel had listened to him. “I'll... see what I can do.”

 

“Jesse.” Came Gabriel’s voice behind Jack.

 

Lena and Jesse quickly snapped salutes as the Strike Commander strolled in the shooting range.

 

“I hope your not bothering the Blackcats, _ni_ _ñ_ _o_.”

 

Jack's lips crimped at the nickname Overwatch for his agents.

 

“No, Sir. Just keeping them company.” Jesse gaze flicked to Jack, pleading with him.

 

Jack sighed. Fine. For the kid. Not that it would make much of a difference. “Strike Commander, a moment of your time later?”

 

Gabriel's dark-brown gaze locked with Jack's for a moment.

 

Jack thought he wouldn't say anything at all. But Gabe surprised him.

 

“Of course, Commander Morrison. My office.”

 

Ah. His office. That's why he'd bothered to speak to him. Typical.

 

Gabriel turned his attention to Lena. “Agent Oxton. How's the new arm treating you?”

 

“Very good, Sir.” Her gaze shifted ever so slightly to Jack, as if wondering if speaking to the Strike Commander was some kind of betrayal.

 

He shrugged. Didn't bother him.

 

“Just as good as the old one,” she continued. “Better in fact. Never break a nail on this hand again.”

 

“I'm glad to hear one of Reinhardt’s experimental limbs is up to his high standards.” He nodded at her. “Keep up the good work Agent.”

 

“Sir.” Lena saluted.

 

“ _Ni_ _ñ_ _o_ , with me.” Gabe turned and walked away, Jesse following him.

 

Jack crossed his arms and leaned against the partition between shooting stalls. Not even a goodbye.

 

“Pops?”

 

He looked up at Lena.

 

“Say the word and I’ll fill his bed with spotted dick. He'd never know.”

 

Jack chuckled. That would be a sight to see. Both the bed, and Gabriel's reaction to it. He straightened and patted her on the shoulder. “Stand down, kid. Thanks. I can handle it.”

 

Two hours later he put his thumb on the DNA lock on Gabriel's office. The door remained barred when once upon a time he was on the cleared for entry list. At this point, he shouldn't have been surprised. Or hurt.

 

But he was both.

 

He knocked. Several minutes later, the door opened. He walked in, the door swinging closed behind him.

 

Gabriel stood by his desk, duster hanging off the back of his chair, belt already undone. Jack pulled off his hoodie and let it drop to the floor. Like field striping their weapons, they both pealed off their clothes in purely utilitarian fashion. Boots. Belt. Holsters. Shirt. Pants. Underwear.

 

Jack took his place bent over the desk, like the good subordinate he was. Gabe lubed and prepped him the same way he ran Overwatch. Efficiently. Stay on point, secure objective, evacuate.

 

Long gone were the sweet words in a heady mix of Spanish and English. This was simply stress relieving sex. Jack white-knuckled the edge of the desk as Gabe rammed his hips against the wood. Idly, he wondered how often this desk had seen other... stress relief objectives. He didn't know what bothered him more, that he assumed that he wasn't the only one, or how much that hurt even when he knew it shouldn't.

 

When they were spent, Jack gathered his clothes in silence, pulling them back on as quickly as they'd come off. He flipped up the hood of his jacket to hide his graying hair.

 

“Gabe.”

 

A pause. “Yes?”

 

“Jesse wants to be an agent.”

 

“I know.”

 

“Asked to join Blackwatch.”

 

Another, longer pause.

 

“He's a good kid Gabe. He'd be a good agent.”

 

“No.”

 

Jack sighed. “But if—”

 

“You're not his father, Jack. I said no.”

 

His guts contorted, his hands clenching into fists as he fought to keep the wave of bitterness and despair out of his voice. “A fact I am _keenly_ aware of, Gabriel. I only wanted to speak on his behalf. He's a smart boy. He'd be a good agent.”

 

With that, he let himself out of the office and headed for his own. There was plenty of work to do.

  
  


\--

  
  


Things were so much easier when he simply scheduled himself away from HQ. There were Watchpoints all over the world, plenty of recruits to evaluate, teams to train, missions to run. Active mission ops always welcomed his personal involvement. Scheduling was a Godsend, keeping him away for weeks, months at a time. The hardest, slogging missions he assigned himself. It was nearly seven months since the last time he stepped foot in the Swizz base.

 

And it was only because Lena tricked him. The little vixen had lured him to the medical wing with faulty robot arm excuses. Should have known. Now he was at Doctor Winston's mercy.

 

“Will that be all, my friend?” Jack said, barely keeping the annoyance out of his voice as he pulled his hoodie and body armor back on after the full scan.

 

The good Doctor sighed as he looked over the tablet in his hand. “When was your last full physical?”

 

“Don't need one. If I'm fit enough to make it in from the field, I'm fit.”

 

“You're exhausted. You run yourself ragged.”

 

“Danger doesn't stop itself. I have a job to do.”

 

“You're diet is atrocious.”

 

“Dehydrated meals have all the protein and vitamins I need.”

 

“You need fresh fruit. Fresh vegetables. Something that hasn't had all the favor sucked out of it.”

 

Jack shrugged. “No time for luxuries. Missions to run, teams to lead.”

 

“You need time to decompress, Jack. Rest for goodness sake!”

 

“I'll rest,” Jack said, tapping the exam table with a finger. “When I'm on this slab with a bullet between my eyes.”

 

“That's that I'm worried about,” Winston said, his liquid brown eyes looked up at Jack, beseeching him. “That's exactly what we're all worried about.”

  
  


\--

  
  


The round impacted his shoulder, tearing through him and spinning him to the round. It would have been something he could have walked off, but under the pain there was a queasiness that flowed through him. Jack snarled, pushing himself up to his hands and knees. Drugged round. Fucking Talon.

 

Dozens of boots pounded the ground heading for him. So. He was the target. He forced himself to his feet, bringing his rifle to bare and opening fire. The first to grunts crumpled to his pulse rounds but more flooded around him. A canister landed at his feet.

 

Flashbang. Non-lethals?

 

It erupted in white.

 

He found his cheek pressed to the dirty tile floor, eardrums shattered, eyes sightless. But he could feel the vibrations of the Talon team forming a circle around him. They wanted him alive. Never.

 

He whipped his rifle around, pulling the trigger. The gun recoiled, the powerful kick back too much for even him one handed. It yanked his shot shoulder. Jack couldn't hear his own scream of pain, but he felt it torn from his vocal cords.

 

His vision slowly came back around the edges. Just enough to see the team moving in. He swung the rifle like a club, smashing one helmet in and pulling the trigger. Weapons and boots bashed into him, tearing open old wounds and fresh ones alike. Snarling like a wounded animal, Jack lunged, crashing into three blurry agents. His teeth sank into one's throat while his fingers broke through another's goggles and hooked into the eye sockets.

 

A muzzle thrust into his chest and fired. His body armor withstood the round, but the shock wave ripped through him, flinging him away. The floor crashed into his back and knocked what little sense he had from his head. He lay there, gasping for air.

 

Two masked faced appeared over him. One opened a small canvas bag.

 

All Jack could think was how annoyed Gabriel would be to have his Covert Operations head kidnapped. It would be an inconvenience. Bitterly, he toyed with the idea of letting them take him, just to see if Gabriel would do something about it, or simply cut his losses.

 

One of his would-be kidnappers grabbed his chest armor, pulling him up as the other stuffed the bag over his head. Jack grabbed the bag holder's arms, kicked his legs up around the other's neck. With a swift jerk, he snapped the neck between his thighs. That was the most action he'd had in... forever it seemed like.

 

He dropped to the floor, pulling the bag holder down while bringing his head up. Blood splattered the outside of the canvas and his would-be kidnapper ceased moving. He rolled to his feet, yanking the bag off.

 

Two rifle barrels an inch from his face fired. He jerked away. The two rounds grazed the right side of his face and sent him sprawling back to the floor. A boot stomped down on his back. Jack's growl was cut off as a rifle was slipped against his throat and pulled back, crushing his windpipe.

 

Black and blue spots danced in front of his eyes as he clawed at the weapon. The boot grounded down on his back, keeping him pinned. He wouldn't go with them alive.

 

Voices came to him in a garbled mess, like he was underwater. He cracked open an eye in time to see Gérard and Lena barrel into the room, weapons blazing. Gérard tackled the agent off Jack. The gun disappeared and Jack dropped to the floor, gasping for air.

 

Lena's pistols roared as Jack rolled over onto his back. He was getting too old for this. Two different sized hands grabbed him by the biceps and yanked him up.

 

“Come on, pops,” Lena's voice sounded fuzzy and far away.

 

“Stay with us, _Patron!”_ Gérard said, equally as fuzzy as he slung Jack's arm over his shoulders.

 

Lena slipped to his other side, shouldering his other arm. Together they hauled him out of the building into the street. Jack tried his legs, but they felt like lead. They were out in the middle of the street, no cover. He had to get them to a safer place, he couldn't slow them down.

 

Something tackled them from behind. Gérard's supporting shoulder disappeared and Jack stumbled, Lena hauling on him to keep him upright, while struggling to get a bead on her target. A small, flashing red light drew Jack's bleary eyes to the ground at his feet.

 

Grenade.

 

He flung himself at Lena, covering her.

  
  


The next thing he remembered, his vision was dim. He looked up his arm in a daze. A metal hand was clamped on his wrist, jerking him. His gaze traveled up it.

 

Lena's face was a mess of blood and mud, her white teeth bared in a feral snarl as she twisted and shot, then jerked his arm again. Absently, he registered the ground sliding by under him. She was protecting him with the ferocity of a tiger. Though, she was British, she probably would prefer being likened to a bulldog. She was a sweet girl. His eyes sagged closed on their own.

 

His memory swam in and out.

 

His legs trailed behind him, leaving red stains in their wake.

 

Bright blue light spilling over his face. He opened his eyes. Three Jesse McCrees picked him up. The world blurred into streaks of color and then stopped.

 

Reinhardt's face hovering over him. “We've got you, my friend.”

 

Jesse and Lena hunched over him. Why was Lena crying? She’d never cried.

 

Bright white lights shining in his eyes, something strapped over his mouth and nose. A face blocked out the light.

 

“Jack? Jack can you hear me?” Winston's face slowly came into focus.

 

He wore blue medical scrubs, face mask, and cap. Was he in the middle of a surgery?

 

“Do you want me to call Gabriel?” Winston asked, his voice washing against Jack's ruptured ear drums. “Jack? Do you want him to be here? Just in case?”

 

Would Gabe come? Or would he ignore Jack's calls? Maybe he would answer if Winston called instead. But would he come? Jack closed his eyes. He didn't think he could take hoping he'd show up only to be disappointed. Not again.

 

“No,” he rasped as a single high pitched whine filled the room.

 

~

 

Talon. Ambush! Kidnapping him. Gun choking him. Gérard and Lena. Grenade!

 

Jack gasped, bolting upright, hands scrabbling for his rifle, for his sidearm, anything! There was nothing but two layers of blankets.

 

Breathe. Count to ten. Check your surroundings. Jack talked himself down from a panic attack. He was in a hospital. Guess he survived the blast. Slowly, his heart eased back from wild pounding. Then the pain set in.

 

Everything hurt. His muscles, his bones, his marrow. Carefully, he eased himself back down onto the pillows. He wondered if this was what Lena felt like when she lost her arm.

 

Coil by stubborn coil, his tense body slowly gave up the fight and relaxed. Winston had ordered him to relax more, apparently all he needed was a concussion blast to do it.

 

~

 

Boots thumping toward him startled him awake. His lights were out, the blinds closed tight. His ears and head pounded, his throat was raw, and his eyes burned. There was no way he could fend off another attack. In truth, he was too damn tired to bother anyways. Let Talon come and finish what they started.

 

Chair legs scraped on linoleum in the hall.

 

“Agent Oxton,” Gabriel's voice came through the closed door loud and clear. “Stand down.”

 

“You're late,” Lena shot back. There was no, Sir, and more that likely no salute. She was looking for a fight.

 

Jack sighed. He didn't feel up to this. Lena was difficult enough to keep under control when she was mad. He didn't have the strength to keep her from getting drawn up on insubordination charges _and_ sit through an interrogation by Gabriel. Even concussed and battered, he still got no reprieve.

 

“I said stand down, Agent.”

 

“Five hours,” Lena spat. “Five hours in touch-and-go surgery. Six hours in recovery. Where _were_ you?”

 

“That is none of you business.”

 

“The bloody hell is isn't.”

There were several boot steps in rapid succession. Jack groaned and let his head fall to the side. He hoped Lena had the damn good sense not to fist fight the Strike Commander.

 

“My patience is wearing thin, Oxton. Stand down.”

 

“What do you want?”

 

“I'm here to assess Commander Morrison's condition.”

 

“Jack,” Lena snapped. “Or can't you say his name anymore?”

 

“You are exhausted and upset at the loss of your squadmate” Gabriel said in his low, you're two seconds away from being murdered voice. “I will chalk up your insubordination to shock. But not any more. Stand down.”

 

“Family. Only,” Lena spat.

 

“Excuse me?”

 

“Winston's orders. No one goes into that room but family. Jack's in too fragile a state for just anyone to go barging and stressing him. Family. Only.”

 

There was a long—worrying long—pause. Jack put a hand to his face. Christ, Lena. Why? Now there was so much damage control to do.

 

“I am—” Gabriel began.

 

“Nothing,” Lena cut him off. “If you'd had put that ring on his finger, and not forced him to wear it around his neck, you wouldn't be in this situation, would you?”

 

Jack's eyes flew open. Oh fuck. He pushed himself up and swung his legs over the end of the bed. Fuck, fuck, fuck! She shouldn't have brought that up. She wasn't supposed to know about that. Gabriel was going to be pissed. How did she even—never mind. She was a clever girl. She'd probably known for ages. He shakily got to his feet. Alternating waves of dizziness and nausea forced him to lean on the wall for support.

 

One hand over the other, he staggered the length of the room on aching legs. He made it to the door control panel.

 

“You have a lot to answer for, Strike Commander,” he heard Lena hiss.

 

Why couldn't she go through her rebellious phase when he wasn't in the hospital. He put his hand on the panel and the door swished open.

 

Gabriel loomed over Lena, his six foot one making her five foot four look like a doll. To her credit, Lena glared up at him without flinching, but her hand was far too close to the holster at her hip for Jack's liking. Gabriel's expression was shadowed with suppressed rage. A look Jack was too familiar with these days.

 

“Agent Oxton that will be enough,” Jack said, shocked his voice sounded stronger than he felt.

 

Both of them whipped around to stare at him. He hoped he looked like hell so they were ashamed to be causing a scene in a damn hospital. And he was going to teach them that a hospital was no place for insubordination or attitude.

 

“Pops! You're up!” She stepped toward him.

 

He held up a had. “I will deal with you later, agent. I appreciate your concern and dedication to Doctor Winston's orders, but you have stepped over a line.”

 

Lena's eyes flashed. He met her with a cool stare until her shoulders slumped.

 

“Apologies, Sir.”

 

Gabriel drew himself up. Before he could speak, Jack pinned him with another stare.

 

“Strike Commander. I realize that a full debriefing after a mission of this magnitude is a high priority, and I intend to give you my full report. But I do not appreciate you placing my agents in the awkward position of either following medical orders, or following yours.”

 

Shock flickered across Gabriel's features for a moment before his expression settled back into it's neutral mask. “An oversight on my part,” he said, sounding anything but apologetic. “It will not happen again.”

 

The effort of having to stand wore on Jack. All he wanted to do was curl up and go back to sleep. It must have showed on his face. Lena stepped up to him.

 

“Ya look like death. Who said you could get out of bed?” She pulled his arm off the door frame and slung it around her shoulders.

 

“I can make it on my own,” Jack said.

 

“So you can get hurt on the way and have Winston blame it on me? Don't think so.” Lena shouldered his weight and dragged him back to bed.

 

As much as he wanted to tell her he didn't need the help, he was tired. He let her help him back into bed. Why wasn't Gérard here with her? He was supposed to keep an eye on her. Had something happened to him? Was he handling the mop up while Jack himself had been out for who knew how long?

 

“Gérard,” he said, closing his eyes and laying back on the pillow. “Is he hurt?”

 

Lena tensed. “Just get some rest, pops.”

 

Oh no. “What happened to him?”

 

“Don't—”

 

He grabbed Lena's wrist. “Tell me.”

 

“He's gone,” Gabriel said.

 

Jack opened his eyes. Gabriel had followed them into the room. This was the longest they'd been in contact in... lord... he didn't remember the last time—Gone? He closed his eyes again. Gérard had been his best sniper, his friend, almost since Jack had taken the job.

 

“Does Amélie know he's dead?”

 

“Not dead,” Lena said quickly.

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“He's been taken,” Gabriel said, his voice flat.

 

Jack's mind started strategizing. Talon had wanted him, but they'd taken Gérard. He was still alive. They'd ransom him, try to use him. Jack wouldn't let them.

 

“I'll find him.”

 

“You'd better,” Gabriel said from the foot of Jack's bed. “One of the top Covert Operations Agents in the world in the hands of terrorists could spell disaster for Overwatch.”

 

Gabriel was only here to clean up loose ends. Jack shouldn't be surprised. He was tired of being surprised. He wished Gabriel hadn't come. “I _will_ bring him home.”

  
  


\--

  


The screens all round the Blackwatch command center teemed with Intel, the labor of all the Blackwatch teams from around the world. Jack stood in the center of it all, watching the information scroll by as his techs and analysts fed it into the main archive. His eyes scanned the information and maps that were all frustrating unhelpful.

 

Still nothing from Talon. No demands. No manifesto. It was like they'd made Gérard disappear.

 

The main door opened. Jack didn't both to spare a look over his shoulder. The quick thump of cowboy boots with a distinctive jingle told him exactly who it was.

 

“Jesse,” he said, tapping the kill screen button on the desk beside him. The holo-screens went dark. “Good to see you.”

 

“How do you do that?” Jesse asked as Jack turned to face him.

 

“Do what?” he asked, leaning a hip against the desk.

 

“Always know it's me?”

 

Jack glanced down at the young Overwatch agent's cowboy boots with their shiny spurs and then back up at him. “I can read minds.”

 

Jesse looked down at his boots. “Well now I feel silly.” He smiled, his cheeks dimpling.

 

“What can I do for you?” Jack asked when the kid wasn't forthcoming about why he'd wandered down to the Blackwatch bunker.

 

“Well, you called off our weekly hour at the range. I thought maybe if I came by in person, I could talk to you out of this place for an hour or two... maybe get some lunch?”

 

“I'm sorry, but I'm too busy.”

 

“Even for an hour?” Jesse asked.

 

Jack shook his head. “I have a mission I'm leaving on.”

 

“Oh.” Jesse stuck his hands in his pockets. “Well... next week then? You could come with me and papi maybe?”

 

“Maybe,” Jack lied.

  
  


\--

  
  


He wiped mud and blood from his face as he walked out of the plane onto the tarmac. Rain poured down on him and his team as they slogged toward base. At the entrance to the Blackwatch hanger, was Amélie. She held herself and her umbrella high, her gray eyes locking onto Jack, waiting for him.

 

It'd been so long since there was anyone waiting for him to return from a mission his heart was monetarily touched. But that shattered when he had to look her in the eye and shake his head.

 

Amélie nodded. She turned on her heel and stroke off, long ponytail swaying behind her.

  
  


\--

  
  


The door chime sounded again. Who the hell couldn't take the hint that he didn't want to be bothered? He glared at the door, trying to ignore it and go back to watching the news feed. The Strike Commander was on site of the latest Talon bust. A bust that wouldn’t have been possible without Jack's effort and the work of his agents. The door chime sounded yet again. Jack grit his teeth and pushed himself up from the table. He went to the door and opened it.

 

“What—” He was swept up into a back snapping hug. “Reinhardt!” he gasped.

 

“Good to see you my friend! It's been too long!”

 

The giant German set him back down. Jack gasped for air.

 

“You missed out on beer night!” he said, crossing his massive arms. “I brought them special from home.”

 

“I've been busy,” Jack said, trying and failing to hold back a sigh.

 

Reinhardt looked down his nose at him. “Aren't you going to invite an old friend in?”

 

“Please,” Jack said, standing aside. “Won't you come in?”

 

“Of course.” Reinhardt ducked down and went in.

 

Jack closed the door and followed him.

 

“You're place is... clean,” Reinhardt said, standing in the middle of the untouched kitchen.

 

“Not here often,” Jack said, flicking off the TV.

 

Reinhardt opened the fridge and scoffed when he found it empty. “What do you even eat Jack?” He closed the door and eyed the dishes in the sink. “Still MREs. Aren't' you tired of them?”

 

“I don't cook,” Jack said.

 

Reinhardt sighed and started rummaging around through the pots and pans. “Honestly you should at least know how to feed yourself.” He opened the pantry and had to blow dust off the cans he pulled out

 

“Please don't,” Jack said.

 

“You need to eat something. Something not out a bag,” he added when Jack tried to protest.

 

In a few moments, Reinhardt had a simple pasta and sauce dish ready with two bottles of beer. Jack had never been so happy to eat. The tomato sauce was heaven compared to the dehydrated stuff. And the beer! The beer was to die for. Thank God he'd let Reinhardt in.

 

When they were both mopping up the last of the noodles and sauce, Reinhardt broke his silence.

 

“You've been missed, Jack.”

 

He found that hard to believe. Upstairs hardly bothered with the Blackwatch these days. “Been busy with Talon.”

 

“Even before Talon, my friend. You haven't been in meetings, training runs, team building exercises.”

 

“I haven't been wanted,” Jack said with a shrug.

 

“You are wanted, you just don't believe you are.”

 

Jack smiled mirthlessly. “The reception I got last time was less than welcoming.”

 

Reinhardt sighed and shook his head. “Jack... the two of you used to be the best of friends. What happened?”

 

Jack took a swig from his beer. “Nothing happened.”

 

Reinhardt looked him in the eyes. “Neither of you are the men you used to be. You were better together, as a team.”

 

“People change, Rein. Like you said, we're not who we used to be.”

 

“Would you at least talk to him?”

 

Jack sighed. “I've tried. He doesn't want to listen.”

 

“Little Jesse looks up to you, you know,” Rein said. “And this strain between you two is putting him in the middle. And I know you've seen the affect it has on Lena. At least for their sakes—”

 

“You make it sound like we're a divorced couple, Rein,” Jack spat, “The only thing we have ever been is officer and commander. All I can do is be a good soldier and do my job.”

 

Reinhardt said nothing as he looked a Jack with something infuriatingly close to pity in his eyes. Before Jack could order him out, Reinhardt stood, clearing away the dishes. Jack buried his face in his hands, regretting snapping at the man who'd had his back in the war just as much as Gabriel had.

 

The water turned on. Jack lifted his head and stood, coming over to the sink to dry while his fellow soldier washed.

 

“I'm sorry,” he said. “I didn't mean to snap at you.”

 

“You're under a great deal of pressure, I know what that's like.” Reinhardt handed him a clean plate. “But it's not healthy to obsess. You know Gérard would be the first one to try and drag you away from this.”

 

“I owe him,” Jack said, setting the dry plate aside. “It was me they wanted, but they settled for him.”

 

“He would have rather it been him than you, Jack. You are an infinitely higher value target.”

 

“I'm sure that's exactly how the Strike Commander feels,” Jack said. “I would have proved a much more dangerous potential leak. Or maybe he would have had Gérard or Torbjörn put a round through my skull instead of planning a rescue. That would clear up any problems for him.”

 

Reinhardt slammed his fist down on the counter, making the entire barrack seem to rattle. “That is not fair to him, Jack Morrison, and you know that. Gabriel sacrifices just as much as you do for his people. That is unkind of you to say of him.”

 

Jack didn't flinch as he set his dish aside. Reinhardt was right. The Strike Commander had sacrificed much for Overwatch, and Jack had been the first casualty. “I'm sorry.”

 

Reinhardt sighed again. “If you two would only talk... we're all worried about the both of you.”

 

Jack shrugged. “You don't have to worry about me. I'm fine.”

 

“Jack—”

 

“Now, if you'll excuse me. I need to go to bed. I have an op that I leave for in the morning.”

 

Reinhardt drained the sink and dried his hands. “You leave when he comes back. He has something to attend to when you return. Avoiding each other solves nothing.”

 

“I'm only doing my job.”

 

It was all he had left.

  
  


\--

  
  


Never in his military career had Jack been blindsided not once but twice within seconds of each other. He stood before the Strike Commander's desk, hastily trying to process the bloody events of the day.

 

“Do you have _any_ idea how absolutely _fucked_ this situation is?” The Strike Commander's voice was low and cold.

 

If only Jack could be so composed in the face of loss this great. Anger gave him clarity. How dare he ask that. “No, Sir. I seem to be unaware.”

 

“Do not talk back to me, Commander. Not today.”

 

Jack shut his mouth like a good little soldier.

 

The Strike Commander put his hands on the desk, leaning toward Jack. “My second in Command is dead, third in Command in critical condition, all at the hands of _your_ sniper.”

 

“That was not Gérard,” Jack fired back.

 

“We have positive identification.”

 

“It was _not_ Gérard.” Jack seethed. Talon had done something to him. Changed him. Never, under any circumstances would Gérard ever put a fellow agent, a friend, in his crosshairs. And he would have rather put a gun in his mouth before shooting his own wife.

 

“I don't care what you believe, Commander Morrison. The fact of the matter is that Gérard Lacroix is a traitor and a murderer. God only knows what he's told Talon.”

 

“Did you see his skin?” Jack snapped back. “His eyes? They've tortured him. He's been trained to deal with torture. If they found they couldn't break him, they would have to wipe his memory. It's the only explanation of why he's doing their bidding.”

 

“You would have me risk this entire enterprise, and all these souls around the world on your claim that the world's best sniper has been brainwashed?”

 

“If they did a memory wipe, all his knowledge of Overwatch and Blackwatch is gone. He poses no intelligence threat.” Jack gathered what he could of his calm. “Gabriel... let me go get him. I will bring him back and we can fix this.”

 

The Strike Commander's fingers curled into fists on his desk. “Reinhardt is dead. Amélie is barely clinging to life.” He met Jack's eyes. “You will hunt down the traitor and silence him before he can kill anyone else. That is a direct order, Commander.”

 

The last little bit of hope still left in Jack disappeared. He stepped back from the desk and saluted crisply. “Understood, Strike Commander Reyes.”

  
  


\--

  
  


Rain pattered down on the congregation clustered close together. Lena nudged his side and shifted closer as the casket lowered into the ground. “It's not your fault, pops,” she whispered.

 

But it was. If Talon had taken him, Gérard would still be here, Reinhardt would still be here.

 

Ana had flown in from Egypt to speak. Torbjörn spoke. Jesse spoke. Amélie, in a wheelchair with half her face bandaged spoke. The Strike Commander spoke. Jack hardly heard them. Lena nudged him again.

 

“Your turn,” she said.

 

Jack steeled himself and walked to the front of the small cluster of mourners. “We bury a good friend today. Reinhardt was more than a brilliant engineer and an inspired weapons designer. He was a mentor, a father figure. The light in his heart guided us through our darkest times... guided me through my darkest times. The world lost a beautiful soul. But he wouldn't want us to be sad. He would be the first to tell us to celebrate his life, remember the good times, never drink terrible American beer.”

 

A subdued chuckle rippled through the handful of friends and agents clustered around the graveside.

 

“He would want this to bring us closer together, to fortify our dedication to the oath we all took when joining Overwatch.” He gaze flicked to Gabriel for just a second. “And perhaps use this reminder that life is short to forgive and start anew.”

 

The Strike Commander's face betrayed nothing as he stood stone still under his black umbrella.

 

“To Reinhardt Wilhelm,” Jack said, turning his full attention back to his final words. “The most dedicated man Overwatch has ever known.

 

“To Reinhardt,” they echoed.

  
  


\--

  
  


Lena yanked her feet off the desk as Jack stormed into the Blackwatch rec room. “Another blow out?” she asked.

 

Jack shot her a glare.

 

“That's the fourth one this month,” she commented, as if Jack hadn't been there taking a verbal beating for the last hour.

 

“The Strike Commander is displeased with our lack of progress shutting down Talon.” And even more pissed Gérard's head wasn't on a pike yet for his crimes.

 

“I'll go next time,” Lena said. “I'm a senior officer, I can answer whatever he wants.”

 

That sounded so good. He needed a break. From the stress, the disappointment. “Thank you, Lena... but that's not your job, it's mine.” He didn't have it in him to push the unpleasant parts of his job onto anyone else. Especially Lena, who was hurting just as much as he was.

 

“I'm just worried about you,” Lena said. “You're not yourself.”

 

“I can handle it, Lena, thank you.”

  
  


\--

  
  


“Commander Morrison, Sir,” the pilot said has Jack boarded the EVAC plane.

 

“What?” Jack snapped. He was tired, bloody, and he had another mission waiting for him to join it before they could strike. Lena could only keep them hidden for so long.

 

“Orders from HQ. The Strike Commander wants you to return.”

 

“When the mission is complete.”

 

“Now, Sir,” the pilot said. “The orders were very clear.”

 

That son of a bitch. Fine. “Make it fast,” he said.

 

~

 

He strode into the Zurich Watchpoint. The exceptionally few people inside flung themselves out of his way. Good. He didn't want to deal with them right now. He cut a direct path to the elevator, taking it up to the familiar level.

 

The Strike Commander waited in his office, standing at the huge windows, looking out over the lush green landscape of Zurich in summer.

 

Jack took a breath, and walked inside. “You wanted to see me, Sir.”

 

The Strike Commander pointed at the screens. Jack walked closer, already dreading what he'd find.

 

A wash of news reports and social sites scrolled by on the screens. By the second headline, Jack already knew what he was here for.

 

“It appears that your reassurance that Gérard would not be an information leak was a false one, Commander.”

 

“You don't know the information came from him,” Jack said.

 

“Top secret Blackwatch mission information revealed to the media. Covert Overwatch Operations Protocols. For fuck’s sake they released agents’ names!”

 

“If this was Gérard's doing why wait?” Jack counted. “If Talon had all this information why sit on it for months?”

 

“Waiting until they had enough information. Waiting until we made a mistake so this would add fuel to the fire. It doesn't matter why, only that it's happened.”

 

It was bad enough the Strike Commander saw Gérard as guilty until proven innocent, but Jack would not allow him to pin this nightmare of an intelligence breech on him when he couldn't defend himself. He put his hands on the desk. “Who's to say this wasn't an _Overwatch_ leak, Gabriel?”

 

Gabriel's expression hardened. “It isn't.”

 

“How can you be sure?” Jack sneered. “You've got four times the personell of Blackwatch, civilians, didn't you have a hacker problem not long ago?”

 

“That hacker was found and repurposed to work for me,” Gabriel said. “She cleared that it wasn't from Overwatch.”

 

“And you trust her?”

 

“I do.”

 

“Well I trust Gérard. How come my trust is wrong and yours is right?”

 

Gabriel uncrossed his arms and gripped the edge of the table. “Because I did not lose my agent to a terrorist organization, _Jonathan_.”

 

Jack hated his full name. “Is that what you think? That I let Talon to kidnap and brainwash him?”

 

“What I think is that you should have never allowed him to be put in a position to be taken.”

 

“Are you calling my leadership into question, Strike Commander?”

 

“I'm calling your judgment on this matter into question,” Gabriel fired back. “You are off the Lacroix case.”

 

It was blatant slap in the face. “You can't do that!” Jack hissed.

 

“I can and I have. I should have done it at the very beginning. Your calls are compromised by your friendship and compassion. And because of it, you've put the entirety of Overwatch into jeopardy.”

 

His _compassion_? That's why he was pulled from this case? It was the entire reason he'd been forced into this position! He slammed his hands down on the desk so hard it cracked. “I am not made of stone, Gabriel! You know that. I’m doing my best.”

 

“Your best isn't good enough.”

 

Jack's fingers curled into claws as he met Gabriel's eyes. “ _That's_ my crime? That I'm not good enough to kill a friend in cold blood when he could be in the greatest need of my help?”

 

“That's what you have to do as a commander, _Jonathan_. You have to make tough calls that you don't like. If it were me—”

 

“But it wasn't you!” Jack roared. “You wanted my compassion and you got it. Now when it's not convenient for you, you want me to abandon it. It's the whole reason y _ou_ stuck _me_ here.”

 

“And that was clearly a mistake. You can't handle it.”

 

Jack took a deep breath to try and calm himself. Humiliating him, embarrassing him, questioning everything. He just couldn't. “I'm done here,.” He turned and headed for the door.

 

“Do not turn your back on me!” Gabriel bellowed, following after him. “That's an order soldier!”

Jack whipped around. “I am tired of being your good soldier.”

 

“As long as you are under my command you will obey!”

 

Enough. He'd suffered enough. Jack tore the ball chain from his neck and slammed the necklace into Gabriel's chest. Gabriel grabbed Jack's fist, glancing down at the dogtags and ring.

 

“Consider _that_ my resignation,” Jack spat. He pulled his hand free, leaving the necklace behind. “I'm done trusting you.”

 

The room erupted in fire.

 

Jack's head rang as he picked himself up off the floor. He gagged, a wave of blood splattering onto the broken floor. Fuck. Something internal had ruptured. Shouldn't have taken off his body armor. The floor groaned.

 

He had to get out. Pushing himself up, he stumbled to his feet. The office was in tatters. Smoke billowed through the blown out windows. Fires roared around him. The splintered ceiling sagged, raining chunks of plaster down.

 

“Gabriel?” he shouted. He took a step and his guts felt like they were going to tumble out of him. “Gabriel!” Mad as he was, Gabriel was still the Strike Commander, he couldn't be allowed to die like this. Jack shuffled through the destruction, mind racing. He gagged on smoke and blood.

 

Who would have done this? Who could have done it? Talon. They were biding their time until the two most powerful men in the world were together. No one in Blackwatch knew he wasn't in the field. Only Overwatch knew of his sudden change of plans. The leak was in Overwatch. God damn it!

 

He found Gabriel sprawled across what was left of his desk and flipped him over onto his back. There was a pulse, and his chest rose and fell. Two bloody gashes slashed across his face. Jack grabbed at his belt, looking for a bionic emitter.

 

“Fuck!” He left them on the plane with his body armor.

 

Gabriel groaned and opened his bloodshot eyes.

 

“Get up!” Jack ordered, grabbing Gabe's arm. “Get up damn you!”

 

Gabriel yanked his arm back. “Look what you've done!”

 

Jack stared at him for a heartbeat, smoke roiling through the air, fire devouring everything flammable around them. They stood in hell and Gabriel wanted to point fingers.

 

He finally snapped. “Gabriel Reyes sometimes I want to shoot you.”

 

“You'd never hit me,” Gabriel shouted back. “You're not good enough!”

 

“I was never good enough, was I?” Jack roared back, bloody spittle flinging from his lips. “All this time. I was good enough to do your dirty work, good enough to fuck, but never good enough to marry!”

 

Gabriel lunged at him. Jack saw it coming and dodged. Gabe's fist still connected with his cheek, sending him staggering back.

 

Gingerly, he touched his face. He glared at his former friend, former lover. Gabriel looked shocked by the blood on his fist.

 

“Jack... I didn't... I'm so—”

 

“I'll see you in Hell, Reyes.”

 

He turned toward the exit and the floor opened beneath his feet. The world dropped out from under him. Burning debris crashed into him. He slammed into something hard and cold. Bouncing from one impact to the next, he fell, seemingly forever until—

 

~

 

He woke to a nightmare.

 

He couldn't feel his legs. One arm was pinned under a slab of ruined building the size of an apartment. Fires lit up the world with hellish red light, and oily, choking smoke hung low in the air like a suffocating blanket.

 

Blood gurgled up his throat. Numbness crawled up his hips and chest, spreading to his shoulders and free arm. So this was it.

He was so scared. There was so much left undone. Who would take care of Lena? Who would save Gérard?

 

Gabriel had betrayed him one final time. He wasn't here to protect him liked he'd promised.

 

Jack laid his head back, choking blood and acidic smoke, and closed his eyes.

 

“Summer in Spain would have been… beautiful….”

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Quietly sails away on the ark* 
> 
> Why only swap one when you can swap them all?!  
> Jack-Gabe  
> Ana is now Reinhardt  
> Reinhardt is now Torbjörn  
> Torbjörn is now Ana  
> Lena-Jesse  
> Angela-Winston  
> Amelie-Gerard 
> 
> Translations:  
> mi chico de oro- my golden boy  
> oro- gold  
> mi sol- my sun  
> Patron- Boss (french)  
> niño- young boy  
> (I might have missed some... this was a long chapter and I'll update this as I find them!)


	3. In His Shoes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now the real role swap! I hope you all enjoy.

**In His Shoes**

Role Swap

  
  


Pressure crushed his lungs. He tried to scream but something other than sound flowed out of him. He choked on it. Body contorting with bone-breaking contractions, it tried to expel whatever tore his insides apart.

 

He wanted to sob. It was over. It was supposed to be over. Why couldn't he rest? All he wanted was peace.

 

Something held him down as he struggled to breathe. He clawed at it, but he was ethereal and passed through. It felt like water, a crushing weight of water as his lungs burned for air.

 

Everything hurt, like he was falling apart only to be forced back together.

 

His own scream ripped through the air. Flailing for some kind of solid purchase, he lashed out. Smoke clouded his vision. No matter how much he clawed at it, it wouldn't abate. There was nothing to him. He was as viscous as the weight that crushed him.

 

_ Jack.... _ someone called to him.  _ Jack... come back.... _

 

He didn't want to go back. He wanted to be left alone. Please, he only wanted to rest.

 

_ Come back. _

 

No!

 

_ Come back. _

 

Agony shot through him, robbing him of his peace and dragging him somewhere.

 

Screaming, he fought through clouds of smoke into a blinding light.

  
  
  


\- -

  
  
  


Jack bolted to his feet, florescent lights stabbing at his eyes, sterile cold cutting right to his bones. He whirled, eyesight adjusting, hearing coming back, skin crawling. Where was this place? He was in a white cell. No windows, a single door. There was a mirror on one wall that was probably two way. There was nothing in with him but a hospital gurney.

 

Breathe. Check surroundings. Jack tried to talk himself down from a panic attack. Why was he here? What happened? He closed his eyes and pushed the heels of his palms into his face.

 

Before the nightmare, the last thing he remembered was fire. Fire, blood, and pain. He curled his fingers, raking his nails over his forehead.

 

Rubble. He'd been pinned under it. Back broken, internal organs ruptured, punctured, beyond saving. He should be dead...

 

He was dead....

 

How could this be? There was no way anyone would have been able to find him in time, let alone dig him out and treat him. Slowly, he lowered his hands.

 

The flesh of his arms was ash-gray. Panic rising, he watched as his wrist rotted, skin turning twisted and black, infecting his fingers one at a time until white bone showed though. The scream froze in his throat as black smoke drifted from the tips of his fingers.

 

Hell. He was in Hell. It was the only explanation.

 

The door opened. Jack turned his head away from the horror of his flesh and watched as a man in a surgical mask entered the room. He was followed by a bulky guard with a semi-automatic who closed and blocked the door.

 

“Mr. Morrison,” the man in the mask said, pulling a tablet out from under his arm. “It's good to see you aware.”

 

Jack studied the man. He wore snow camo patterned fatigues, not a standard issue Overwatch uniform. Jack recognized him as part of Winston's medical team. “Where am I?”

 

“I'm sure you're very disoriented. Why don't you sit down and relax?”

 

“I'll stand.”

 

“Very well.” The masked doctor stepped closer, tapping at his tablet. “How are you feeling, Mr. Morrison?”

 

“Stressed,” Jack sneered, lifting his hands to show him the patchwork of gray and black.

 

The doctor didn't bat an eye. He glanced the dead looking skin, the visible bone, and nodded. “Good improvement. Have you experienced any—”

 

“Improvement?” Jack demanded. “Improvement from what?”

 

“Vaporization,” the doctor deadpanned.

 

Jack stared at him.

 

The doctor tucked his tablet back under his arm. “It was an unexpected side effect of the resurrection process. We were starting to fear that you were unsalvageable and stuck in your vapor form.”

 

Jack's heart rate kicked up a notch. His  _ what _ from?

 

“We were all very relieved when you, ah, pulled yourself back together.” He motioned toward the mirror on the wall.

 

Jack stepped to it.

 

A stranger greeted him.

 

His hair was bone-white, like he was ninety, not in his late forties. The youthful face he'd once known was now a haggard mess of scars and burns. Most of his nose was missing. His forehead was a gray wasteland of blistered skin. Part of his left cheek had simply vanished, leaving just a thin strip of flesh over now visible teeth. The two deep scars on his right cheek and across his nose had seemed to deepen, like they were cutting into him anew.

 

But his eyes were the worst. The sclera was pitch black and the blue he'd been so familiar with was gone. Sapphire had been replaced by ruby.

 

He looked like Death given form.

 

Jack looked down at his hands, watching as his skin lightened back to ashen-gray, the bones covered back up, as if nothing had ever been out of place. He looked up at the doctor. “What happened to me?”

 

“You died, Mr. Morrison.”

 

He knew it was true, but standing here, breathing, heart beating....

 

“The explosion in Zurich caused the Overwatch headquarters to collapse, with you pinned beneath it.”

 

“I was there for that,” Jack snarled. “Why am I this?” He held up his gray arms.

 

With a board sigh, the doctor shook his head. “Doctor Winston found you sometime later. The public was never told anyone ever found your body, in fact, the good doctor told no one he found you. Though, I understand why, seeing as what he did to you.”

 

“What did he do to me?”

 

“An experimental procedure he'd been developing for some time. He tried to raise you from the dead.”

 

Jack balked. He'd never be religious, but he knew that was wrong with every fiber of his being. “He succeeded.”

 

The doctor shook his head. “No he didn't. He gave up too soon. There was another step in the processes, but he didn't go through with it. I did. I completed his work and here you are. Back from the dead.”

 

_ Come back. _

 

Jack stared at his reflection in the mirror.

 

He'd been at peace and they dragged him back. He was finally free of pain and longing and hurt... and they'd stolen it from him.

 

Thin trails of smoke drifted from the corners of his eyes.

 

They'd stolen his rest and turned him into a monster, a walking corpse. Not alive, not dead, something hideously in-between.

 

He'd make them pay. They'd all pay for what they'd taken from him.

 

He cocked his head to one side. “You're not Overwatch, are you?”

 

The doctor took off the surgical mask and smiled. “I am, Mr. Morrison. But I also work for someone infinitely more... influential. They are quite excited to meet you. They've been trying to meet you for sometime, but Overwatch always got in the way.”

 

“Talon.” Jack said simply.

 

“Correct. We think we can help each other, Mr. Morrison. We can help you adjust to your new... life. And you can help us.”

 

A rueful smile spread across Jack's lips. “I do have you to thank for this, don't I?”

 

The doctor turned up his palms in a humble gesture. “I merely wished to push the bounties of medical science to save you.”

 

Jack turned. His hand clamped around the doctor's throat and, with a squeeze, snapped his brittle neck. He let go. Before the body had time to slump to the floor Jack lunged for the guard. His body burst apart.

 

Suddenly, he was everywhere. He could see everything around him at once, feel the air in the room and the bullets whizzing through him without doing any damage.

 

And he could fly.

 

He rushed toward the guard, his vapory form encircling his target. Jack pulled himself together behind the target's back, grabbing his head and wrenching it to the side. The was a loud crack and the semi-automatic went silent.

 

New feeling prickled at Jack's fingertips. A hunger growled deep in his chest cavity. Something dark-red shimmered in Jack's sight. He knew he wanted it, whatever it was. He  _ needed _ it. Like a ravenous beast, he drew the shimmering something toward him. It flowed into his fingertips, his mouth, his face, his chest.

 

Power flowed through him, infusing him with strength. Greedily, he took and took until there was nothing left. He let the body slump to the floor. It rolled onto its back. An empty husk stared up at him with milky, sunken eyes. The skin had turned ghostly pale, the cheeks hollow, bony hands curled into claws.

 

Interesting... Jack squatted down next to the husk, examining it. Safe to assume that he didn't have that effect while he'd be alive. Another side effect of the resurrection? No. It was because he took whatever that shimmering was.

 

The hunger in his chest gnawed at him, growing. He was starving. He touched the body, wondering if there was more of—it disintegrated into a pile of ash and loose clothing. He jerked his hand back. Well. That would be a no.

 

His gaze flicked to the body of the doctor. Perhaps there was more there. His body turned to vapor again as he ghosted along the floor. So he couldn't fly exactly, but still move as smoke. That could come in handy.

 

He rematerialized over the body. Now, how did he, ah. There it was. The red shimmer radiated off the body like heat off a blacktop. Jack passed his fingers through it. The shimmer gravitated toward him. He curled his fingers, drawing it toward him.

 

It flowed into his hand, pooling in his palm. A red and black orb about the size of an apple sat in his hand, pulsing like a heart. Whatever it was... some instinct told him  _ this  _ would ease the pain rippling across his body.  _ This _ would quiet the ache in his chest.

 

He brought the red orb closer and inhaled. It flowed into his nose, his mouth, his eyes, and ears. Power slid down his throat, wiggled into his veins, curled around his heart, and along his limbs. God! It felt so  _ good _ .

 

The pain was gone. He almost felt alive. His hands looked normal, if still ashen. He rose and went to the mirror again. The burns were gone. His nose and cheek fully fleshed out, like they'd never been missing. No glimpse of teeth. No longer did his face look sunken and corpse-like. He looked robust and healthy.

 

The Blackwatch scars remained. The red eyes remained. He stared at the familiar reflection. Jack Morrison could nearly pass for living now.

 

But Jack Morrison had been a weak, trusting fool. Tendrils of smoke rose off his shoulders as he glared into the mirror. Jack Morrison had let another dictate his life, his happiness, and look where it had brought him.

 

Look what being a good soldier amounted to. All his life he'd done his best and what had been his reward? Un-death. The tendrils broke apart into clouds of smoke that hung over him.

 

This is were honor and sacrifice had lead him. This was where love lead him. He was done with them all.

 

Jack Morrison had been weak. And now he was dead, buried under a building and a lifetime of silent suffering.

 

The smoke settled on his skin, turning into material. A black, Kevlar body suit encased his ashen body. Heavy metal boots misted into being on his feet. He envisioned gauntlets with flesh piercing claws, and the smoke became them. He pulled a familiar hood over his white hair as a long coat solidified down his back to his ankles.

 

In the mirror, he still wore Jack Morrison's face. Nothing could change that, he was stuck with it. A white mask descended over his features, hiding them. He tilted his head to one side, then the other, examining the new reflection. Yes... yes this would work. Now Jack Morrison was truly dead and gone.

 

He turned, striding toward the door. On the way out, he picked up the now owner-less semi-automatic. The hunger in his chest gnawed at him again.

 

He could feel it. Feel more of the shimmering energy hiding somewhere behind these walls. There were more people here, more Talon agents, more Overwatch traitors. A veritable feast.

 

Talon. Overwatch. It was all the same. Both had cost him his happiness and his life. Now he would take their souls as payment.

 

He glided along the shadowy hall like a wraith, sometimes his boots touched the ground, sometimes only mist. A sixth sense led him on, honing in on his targets that could no longer hide from him. If it lived, he could find it.

 

He palmed the control panel on a door. It swished open to reveal several small Talon teams. Lab techs, mercenaries, another doctor or two. All eyes fell on him. The door swished closed and locked behind him.

 

“Death walks among you,” he said.

 

The first bullets flew through him as he ghosted, zipping across the floor.

 

It was so easy. Jack Morrison had always held himself back, had played fair. How liberating it was not to have that burden weighing on his shoulders. He ghosted, reformed, broke bones, ghosted, slit throats. The mercenaries returned fire, backing up and forming into a knot. It was easily penetrated and slaughtered. The techs mostly screamed and ran. A few picked up weapons. They were quickly disposed of.

 

Faster and more efficiently than any Blackwatch mission had ever gone, the room was silenced.

 

He stood in the middle of the blood bath. He hadn't even needed to use the gun. Tossing it aside, he curled his fingers into claws, drawing in the fresh life force.

 

“Yes,” he hissed as he absorbed it all, quelling the ravenous hunger and easing the pain.

He left the room and the empty husks behind. That was only a small fraction of the people that needed to pay for their crimes. Talon and Overwatch had sowed their seeds, watered them with blood, and now, they had to reap what they sowed, and this un-dead wraith was the rotten fruit their labors. Perhaps, in some twisted way, he had succumb to destiny after all. For here he was again, going out to reap the harvest. But instead of golden corn, it was blood-red souls.

 

In the halls, he ran into a few more targets and devoured their souls. He flowed along the hall until he reached the computer nerve center. He needed to know where he was, and where the nearest Watchpoint was. The Overwatch database would tell him who betrayed them. How far up it went. Who needed their soul reaped in the most painful way imaginable.

 

He palmed the control panel and the door swished open. A lone tech turned.

 

“Oh my God!” the gangly man jumped out of his chair, fumbled a gun out of the holster on his waist and pointed it at the white mask. “Who are you?”

 

“I... am the Reaper.” He ghosted, flying forward and cut off the screams.

  
  
  


\--

 

Reaper hated it when Talon sent him envoys. He always made sure to leave them somewhere easily found so everyone would know what happened when you dared approach Death himself.

 

But this time was different. Jack Morrison wouldn't let him kill this one. It was annoying. For almost six years, Jack had been dead and silent. But now, some tiny part of him staid Reaper's hand.

 

“ _ Bonjour _ ,” the blue-skinned man said in a deadpan voice. “I am  _ Chasseur _ . Talon sends greetings.”

 

Reaper took his finger off the trigger off the rifle and slung it over his back to the magnetic holster. “What do you want?” The mask distorted his voice. There was no flicker of recognition in Gérard's now golden eyes. Good.

 

“They send a peace offering.”  _ Chasseur _ pulled a small data drive from one of his belt pouches and held it out. “Part of Overwatch's database we've managed to obtain.”

 

Reaper turned over his clawed hand. Without hesitation,  _ Chasseur _ stepped closer and placed the data in his palm. Reaper scrutinized his face, but no expression crossed it. No fear, no tension. It was as if he felt nothing. Perhaps he didn't.

 

“I've given Talon my answer to their overtures for my help many times before. Why are you here?”

 

“We know you are interested in old Watchpoints.”

 

It didn't take a genius to figure that out. He'd been raiding them for over five years. But with the dissolution of Overwatch, Minerva's database had been splintered, broken up and pieces stashed all over the world. It was a frustrating setback that had put his plans of revenge on hold. “And? Why shouldn't I rip out your soul?”

 

The threat didn't even make  _ Chasseur _ blink. “Because. Talon has found an active databank. It's intact.”

 

Reaper felt smoke curl out of the corners of his mouth and build up behind the mask. An intact copy of the database? Too good to be true. “Then why doesn't Talon do something about it?” It'd be so much easier to have Talon grab the data then just kill them all and take it.

 

“It's unfortunately in the heart of a suspiciously active Watchpoint. Someone is still inside, and without Intel or blueprints, we have no idea who, or how many could be guarding it.”

 

Reaper ran his thumb over the peace offering. An intact database was too crucial to pass up. “And why come to me?”

 

“You've had great success infiltrating old Overwatch bases.”

 

“So have you, apparently.”

 

“The Watchpoint in question is small, and the database will undoubtedly be housed deep inside the main facility. My skills lay elsewhere. Close quarters is not my specialty... as it is yours.”

 

“And which facility is it?”

 

“Watchpoint: Gibraltar.”

 

Reaper called up his memories of the place. Warm sun, a breeze ruffling his hair. Standing before the half-finished drop-ship. Warm waves lapping at his and Gabriel's feet.

 

He cast aside the personal memories. They were useless. The blueprints of the base he mapped out in his head. Yes... yes he knew exactly where the databanks where. They were wise to come to him. It wouldn't be easy.

 

“I'll need a team. The best you have. Outfit them with night vision and  electro -grapplers. I have a hunch who we're up against.”

 

“ _ Oui, _ ”  _ Chasseur _ said. “A plane will pick you up from the roof of the banking building beside Helix International Headquarters tomorrow.”

 

“I'll be waiting.”

 

_ Chasseur _ turned, lifting his gauntlet. A grappling hook shot out and embedded in the roof of a building.

 

“ _ Chasseur _ ,” Reaper said.

 

The man turned his head, not annoyed at his delayed exit, simply reacting and nothing more. “ _ Oui _ ?”

 

“If this is a trap, I'll kill everyone. Even you.”

 

He shrugged. “If that is what you wish.” The gauntlet buzzed and  _ Chasseur _ whizzed toward the roof, disappearing into the shadows.

 

Reaper ghosted, racing along the ground, slipping through grates and vents. He wanted to add the data to his collection before he left. Perhaps it would be moot soon enough, but he'd been foolish and trusting in his past life.

 

He would not make that mistake  _ ever  _ again.

  
  
  


\--

  
  
  


_ Chasseur _ was in position, ready to cover a retreat or extraction. The stealth drop ship door opened and Reaper disembarked first. The masked Talon special ops team followed him, weapons drawn and ready.

 

The familiar situation woke Jack Morrison again. A pang of longing shot through him, making him hesitate. Reaper covered his lapse with a sweep of his surroundings. He was not coming home. He was extracting data, nothing more. He stamped Jack Morrison back down into oblivion.

 

“This way.” He flowed along his path, the team following him to the side hanger door.

 

They delved deeper into the seemingly abandoned Watchpoint. Infuriatingly, Jack's voice floated up through the abyss. Over there at the now empty bay, Jesse had stared up in awe at a nearly finished orbital shuttle, vowing one day he'd fly in space. Back in the corner, was the tactical Blackwatch compound. Fancy words for a closet. Blackwatch had little reason to be here at a scientific outpost. Tired of the cold and rain of home, Lena had spent her leave time on the beach not to far from here, like a normal young woman on vacation.

 

Shut up. Jack Morrison was dead. Reaper had a mission to complete. He stopped in a hall junction. Minerva would know they were here by now. He turned to his second in command.

 

“Down the hall, through the door. Keep your eyes open. She's smart.”

 

Without a word, the SIC waved his team forward. Reaper left them to be the first half of the distraction. He took a side route, cutting through a vent and slinking into position.

 

The lights cut out. Good. She would be distracted. He wove through the vent, pouring out onto the floor of the command center unnoticed. Silently, he ghosted to the door and a flying body nearly smashed into him. He dodged it, letting the elite Talon soldier crash into a pile of crates.

 

She was faster than he thought. Guess he didn't give Angela enough credit. She could hold her own in a fight.

 

Time for the second half of the distraction. He ghosted, flowing through the dark command center floor, around stunned Talon agents. Angela stood her ground in the middle of the chaos, her white exo-suit peppered with bullet scars. He didn't need to get close to get her attention, but he wanted to unnerve her.

 

“What?” she gasped, turning to follow his smoky form as he propelled himself up onto the catwalk of the second level.

 

Reaper rematerialized with Angela's full attention on him. His gaze flicked to the agents fixing the  electro -grapplers to the muzzles of their guns. Good. He laughed. For someone so brilliant, she was incredibly dense.

 

“How dare—” She lunged at him.

 

Before her angel wing thrusters could kick in, the first agent fired his  electro -grappler. The two prongs sliced through the air, embedding in the white armor and yanking her out of the air. She slammed to the ground. Ten-thousand volts sizzled through her armor.

 

She snarled in pain.

 

Reaper watched another recovered agent fire. The prongs wrapped around her right arm. Another agent fired. Angela screamed. Jack whispered to stop this madness and let her go. Reaper ignored the voice and turned, coat fluttering behind him. With Angela and her armor taken care of, he could get down to the real business at hand.

 

He strode to the massive bank of computer terminals, Minerva's brain. Perfect. Angela had apparently been here a while. Reaper had no need to try and boot the system up. He pulled the hacking device from the pouch on his belt and stabbed it into a vulnerable interface. With a click of his thumb, it engaged, sending a storm of little orange bolts of lighting into Minerva.

 

“Security protocols failing!” the AI said over the base wide speakers. “Angela! Reaper is extracting the Overwatch Agents database!”

 

Yes. And he would have it too. Talon had promised him that this hacking device was made by the best. He watched the device as it hummed, opening and shifting. Minerva's panels of lights flickered erratically. Two minutes and he'd have all Overwatch agent's current and last known locations. Picking them off the list would be so much easier... he could taste their souls already.

 

“Extraction at—”

 

Screaming. Glass shattered behind him and a body bashed into a desk. Reaper barely turned his head to watch the agent slump to the floor.

 

“—thirty-two percent.”

 

He growled, stretching his neck to one side. If you wanted something done right.... He ghosted his legs, gliding across the terminal room and out the now broken window. He dropped to the floor just as Angela finished bashing the last two agents heads together.

 

So much for them being an  _ elite _ unit.

 

He landed. Angela's back was too him, she hadn't even noticed. He pulled the heavy pulse rifle from the holster on his back and flicked off the safety.

 

Angela turned just in time to watch him empty an entire clip into her at close range. She staggered back, blonde hair falling out of its ponytail as her body jerked with every impact. He shot out her knee rotors and she slammed to the ground.

But she wouldn't stay beaten. She tried to push herself up and stay in the fight.

 

He'd just have to put her down. He aimed the pulse rifle at one of the big, heavy pieces of equipment she had dangling from the ceiling. A single shot brought it crashing down on her.

 

“Angela? Angela!” The AI said, in the most panicked tone Reaper had ever heard any AI use.

 

Reaper flicked the rifle forward. The chamber popped open, ejecting the spent round. He slapped in a new one as he prowled closer. If she was going to get in his way, he needed to remove her. She glared back up at him.

 

Memories came to him unbidden. Memories of a teen girl, with glasses and freckles, looking so small compared to the agents around her. Of that same girl wowing everyone, him included, when she not only designed, but built and tested her first Tesla cannon the second day of her being drafted into Overwatch. She was only what now? Thirty? Far too young to die.

 

“He's going to have all agents’ locations!” The AI broke the spell of the memories.

 

Reaper leveled the rifle at her face. “I'll be sure to give them your regards, kid.”

 

“I'm not a child,” she spat.

 

She shoved a small metal disk at him. Reaper tensed as the disk emitted a blue forcefield. What was it going to— The field disappeared with a hiss. Instead, it projected a large red hologram reading FAIL. He laughed at her pathetic attempt to harm him.

 

“I'm a scientist.” She looked away and covered her face.

 

The disk exploded, flinging out a forcefield that slammed into him like a shotgun blast. He flew through the air, slamming into a desk and slumping to the floor.

 

Head ringing, back hurting, Reaper snarled, picking himself up from the ground. Angela was already up, armed, Tesla cannon tell-tale humming as it charged. Reaper raised his rifle.

 

Angela shot first. A dozen arks of blinding-white electricity shot through the air and into him. Fire erupted through his veins. Pain engulfed his world. He tried to shoot, to curl his hands, but his body was shaking itself apart. He gagged and his world vanished in to white.

  
  
  


_ Jackie? _

 

_ He knew that voice... _

 

_ Jackie are you... hiding? From me? _

 

_ No hiding, just tired. Tired and hurt. Just let him rest. But he knew that voice, this memory. _

 

_ The darkness parted and he blinked, staring up at an angel. His angel. _

 

_ Gabriel grinned, reaching a hand out to him. I'll always find you when you're lost, Jackie. _

 

_ No. No you didn't. _

  
  
  


Reaper thrashed out of the memory, tearing himself back to the present. Those memories only lead to pain.

 

And he was in enough pain as it was. He hadn't felt like this since the day he was forced back to life. He couldn't materialize. His body was blown to hell, little bits of it here and there around the room as invisible particles of smoke. Angela was going to pay for this.

 

He wanted to go back to the computer, to see if some part of the database was still accessible. But he couldn't pull himself together to do it. Everything hurt, his energy was drained to nothing. And the ravenous hunger was back. He needed to get away, feed, re-strategize.

 

Slowly, he gathered the scattered pieces of himself back into one cloud. He drifting through the wreckage of the control room and into a vent, running like a coward.

 

Not running. Tactical retreat. He would be back. That treasure trove of a database would be his. It was only a matter of time.

  
  
  


\--

  
  
  


“What do you want,  _ Chasseur? _ ” Reaper snarled.

 

He didn't bother turning around at a light tap of the assassin touching down behind him. His claws itched to reach for the mask lying on the ground beside the empty husk he'd just drained.

 

“You are a difficult man to find, Reaper.”

 

“I didn't wish to be found.” Slowly he grabbed the mask and settled it back into place. “Tell me why I shouldn't reach into your chest and pull out your heart.”

 

“You're upset over the assault on Gibraltar. Understandable.”

 

Upset? He was far past upset. He'd torn through an entire Talon hideout to ease the wrath and hunger and even that hadn't been enough to calm him.

 

And then then the unthinkable.

 

Angela had recalled all Overwatch agents back to active duty. No. He wouldn't allow it. Overwatch had stolen everything from him, he wouldn't let it rise from the ashes.

 

“We have a mission,”  _ Chasseur _ continued. “One we think you will find... pleasing.”

 

Reaper stood, smoke roiling around his form. He turned his face the assassin's direction.

 

“There is an Overwatch museum that has recently put an artifact on display. One of Talon's benefactors desires it. If we succeed with the extraction, you'll be rewarded with what data we gained from the hack.”

 

Reaper growled, advancing on the man.  _ Chasseur _ didn't flinch away. He stood motionless, his eyes half-lidded as Reaper towered over him.

 

“Why would I find working with Talon any kind of pleasing?”

 

_ Chasseur’s _ blue-tinted lips quirked up in the semblance of a smile. “Because getting through the museum's defenses will require explosives. And Talon doesn't care about collateral damage.

 

Reaper arched an eyebrow under the mask. Overwatch's memory in smoldering ruins under his boots would go a long way to assuaging his anger.

 

“I will take care of the item's extraction,”  _ Chasseur _ said. “You will run assault however you see fit.”

 

Reaper's lips threatened to crack into a smirk. “Explosively.”

 

~

 

It was just them this time. Jack Morrison woke again as the two of them stood side by side as the plane lowered to drop them off a half mile from their target. It felt almost like home, Gérard at his side, flanking him as they dove head first into something.

 

Together, they dropped from the plane to the ground, running the moment their boots touched earth. The half mile flew by in silence. They reached the outer perimeter and halted.

 

The building was pretty, Reaper would give it that. Looked to be a slow day as well. Hardly anyone was here.

 

Less chance of an innocent getting hurt, Jack's voice whispered in his ear. Shut. Up. Stay dead already.

 

_ Chasseur' _ s recon visor clicked down over his eyes as he swept the compound. “Getting to the roof shouldn't be hard,” he said. “It would be less of an annoyance if the mall cops were distracted.”

 

“I will handle distraction,” Reaper said, running a thumb over the bandier of specially designed rockets. “Rendezvous at the objective.”

 

“Affirmative.”

 

They split up. Reaper ghosted through the decorative fence and materialized in the open courtyard in front of a statue.

 

Already, he could hear the guards on their coms. Reaper loaded a round of rockets into his rifle and spared a glance at the statue on its high pedestal.

 

A thirty foot Strike Commander Reyes carved in gray stone greeted all who entered with a noble salute. The signature long duster and trusty shotguns were captured in stone as well. He looked like some hero from ancient times.

 

Reaper lifted the rifle and pulled the trigger. A trio of hellfire rockets shot out. The statue exploded into a trillion pieces of smoking stone.

 

That had been petty and childish. After nearly thirty years of being the quintessential good soldier, he was overdue for some pettiness. He kicked aside chunks, grinding his boots down on little pieces that still bore some distinguishable markings. He'd be as childish as he damn well pleased.

 

The museum guards scattered. So much for good help.

 

“I'm in position,”  _ Chasseur _ said over coms. “Keep them busy while I—”

 

_ Chasseur _ grunted. The sound of angel wing thrusters and a Tesla cannon powering up came over the line.

 

“I'm engaged,”  _ Chasseur _ deadpanned. “Take the objective.”

 

“I'm on my way.” Reaper ghosted, streaking across the courtyard to the entrance.

 

The blast doors were already down. He rematerialized and fired another barrage of rockets. They did their job flawlessly, tearing through the thick metal. Reaper poured through the gaps, streaking through the museum. The sound of shattering glass led him though side exhibits to the main floor.

 

Angela was taking heavy sniper fire, rushing headlong for  _ Chasseur _ without being mindful of her surroundings. Foolish. He ghosted to her side. She turned, again, just in time to catch a first hand view of what a clip of pulse rifle rounds looked like close up.

 

He advanced, driving her back and  _ Chasseur _ hammered her from above. The foolish girl, taking them on alone.

 

The sniper fire stopped and switched to the fast burst of automatic fire. The suppression fire disappeared and Angela slipped away. Damn it! Where the hell had  _ Chasseur _ gone?

 

A purple suited blur whizzed by, shooting at nothing. Then there was red and brown blur. He didn't have time to find out who the hell it was. He needed to reload. He ejected the clip and Angela went on the attack.

 

She charged. Reaper retreated as he shoved in a new clip and snapped the rifle back up. He fired. Her armor absorbed the blows. Damn, he hated well armored opponents. Made things annoying. She was almost in striking range when she swerved away. Instead of going after him, she activated her boosters and went for  _ Chasseur _ . Reaper cursed as the red and brown blur reappeared. It whipped to a stop just long enough for him to see who it was.

 

Jesse McCree. He was gone in a blink. So Angela hadn't come alone. He sprinted across the open just as Angela smashed her fist into the ground, shattering the floor.  _ Chasseur _ leapt away just in time, landing beside Reaper.

 

At least they still worked together well as a team. Reaper flicked his rifle to the rockets and opened fire. They exploded one after the other on the exo-armor. She wasn't getting out of this barrage. He was going to finish the job.

 

“Angela!”

 

Jesse sailed out of the smoke, blinking through the air faster than even Reaper's eyes could track. He hurled a pair of flashbangs.  _ Chasseur _ shot them out of the air but the distraction was enough. He was on the ground between them, his annoying fast six-shooter fire forcing Reaper and  _ Chasseur _ to split up.

 

Reaper switched back to pulse rounds and hammered away at the back of the chronal accelerator.  _ Chasseur _ 's added sniper fire sent Jesse blinking for cover. Pounding footsteps behind him made him eject the clip and put in a new one. He turned, unloading his rifle into Angela again. How many rounds could that damn armor take?

 

“Die!”

 

Frustratingly, she didn't. She dodged, trying to wait him out for another reload and go in for hand to hand. This mission was getting him nowhere. What should have been an easy smash and grab had devolved into a dog fight. He wanted that data and the nerd and cowboy wannabe were not going to get in his way. He had something that should take care of them both.

 

“Yesss,” he hissed, drawing on his reserves of energy and turning it into thick, concealing smoke.

 

It swirled around him like a cyclone, building, whirling faster and faster. Reaper exploded it outward, covering everything on the ground floor in his smoke. Angela put her hand up as she charged forward blindly. Jesse sprinted toward him. Reaper laughed. Yes! Yes, come to him and make it easy.

 

Nothing was hidden from him in the cloud. He unloaded the full power of his pulse rifle at his enemies. Jesse took a direct hit to the chronal accelerator and retreated, leaping behind a broken pedestal.

 

Angela stubbornly kept coming. She ran into the cloud full tilt. Reaper concentrated everything on her. He shot her chest, waist, legs, knees. Bit by bit she crumpled until she stumbled. Reaper ghosted into his smoke as she crashed through where he'd been and slammed into the ground.

 

Jesse was out of the fight and Angela was down for the count.  _ Chasseur _ went for one of the glass cases and their objective. It was harder than expected, but they'd done what they'd come to do. All that remained was wrapping up loose ends. He materialized, advancing through the smoke with slow, measured steps.

 

He put the barrel of his rifle in Angela's face. This was the last time she'd interfere with his plans. The recall would die with her. She glared up at him defiantly, hand reaching for something. He glanced down. Her glasses lay just to the side of his foot. Jack Morrison's voice plead not to do it. It was too cruel. But Reaper felt like being petty. Six years of being in constant, shifting pain made him want to take it out on someone. He paused his execution, lifted the toe of his boot, turned it, and stomped down on the glasses. They shattered with a satisfying crunch.

 

Angela roared, lunging to her feet. The exso-suit crackled with electricity, going into Overdrive.

 

Shit.

 

Reaper fired at point-blank range, but the rounds seemed to have no effect. He leapt away as she punched, the very air sizzling as her massive fist passed through it.

 

_ Should have listened to me _ , Jack Morrison's voice unhelpfully added in the back of his mind. Shut! Up!

 

A red and brown blur heralded Jesse returning to the fight.  _ Chasseur _ better have the damn objective! Angela smashed her fists into the ground, forcing him to leap out of the way. Jesse blinked in and out of time, firing and blinking too fast to hit.

 

Reaper fell back with Angela and Jesse in pursuit. He turned and fired. Jesse blinked, reappearing in the air above Reaper's head and raining shots down on him.

The boy had to go first. Reaper concentrated fire on him, forcing him back. Just one clean shot to the chronal accelerator and— He turned his head at the sound of pounding behind him. Angela wrapped her arms around him in a bear hug. They fell forward into a roll. In a blur, he was up in the air and then slammed onto his back.

 

His spine spasmed in agony as Angela lifted both fists above her head. He was too old for this. He ghosted a split second before her fists slammed into where his skull had been.

 

“Look out!” a young voice yelled.

 

Reaper turned his attention from the fight. A child? In the middle of a battle?  _ Chasseur _ turned from the empty objective case, pointing his rifle at the child. Jack Morrison yelled for them to lunge in front of the boy. Behind  _ Chasseur _ 's back, another child—just barely a teenager—leapt out from behind cover.

 

“Hey!” the teen snapped.

 

_ Chasseur  _ turned. The teen drew back his metal arm—not metal arm, gauntleted arm—and punched. A forcefield exploded out of the gauntlet.  _ Chasseur _ flew back, smashing through several displays before rolling to a stop.

 

Reaper streaked away from the blast before it could fling him to the moon. When it dissipated,  _ Chasseur _ was on his feet, rifle on its assault setting, muzzle pointed at the teen lying prone on the ground. Reaper zipped forward to put himself between the boy and the rifle.

 

Angela slammed down in front of  _ Chasseur _ , protecting the boy.  _ Chasseur _ opened fire, peppering Angela's armor with more bullets. Jesse blinked behind him, kicking the gun out of his hand and blinking up to it, firing back at  _ Chasseur _ with his own weapon. 

 

They were caught off guard,  _ Chasseur _ outmatched by a teenager, then disarmed! They need to retreat.  _ Chasseur _ seemed to think the same. He fired his grappling hook at the ceiling and zipped toward the glass. Reaper ghosted, grabbing onto him as they soared skyward. Angela and Jesse still came after them. Reaper switched to the hellfire rockets and fired. They exploded mid-air, forcing Angela to back off and give them some breathing room.

 

But she still came after them. Reaper fired again but the rifle clicked. Out of rockets.

 

“EVAC inbound,”  _ Chasseur _ deadpanned.

 

Humiliated twice now. Reaper grit his teeth as they turned tail and ran.

  
  
  


\--

  
  
  


“I did not expect you to show up,”  _ Chasseur _ said, hardly glancing over his shoulder as Reaper materialized behind him.

 

“I have a score to settle.”

 

_ Chasseur _ turned, tossing down a holo-projector onto the floor. It projected a map of a sleepy looking little town, half taken over by forest. A towering castle that looked like something from a book of fairy tales loomed above the treetops. Reaper crossed his arms over his chest.

 

“The abandoned town of  _ Eichenwalde _ is located in the middle of the Black Forest,”  _ Chasseur _ said. “It's been the base of operations for Diederich, a main weapon's supplier. He's been harassed by a mysterious ghost.”

 

Reaper snorted. He was the only ghost here.

 

“His men have made no progress finding this  _ fantôme _ of theirs and want it handled. Swiftly.”

 

“And you couldn't do it alone?”

 

“The  _ fantôme _ has proved... elusive on my hunts. They've slipped off the radar the last few days.”

 

Reaper mulled over the situation. If a frontal assault didn't work, subversion would. Their pesky ghost would come to them. “Tell your Diederich to hole up in his castle. All his men. All his shipments. If the ghost wants a shot at them, they'll be forced to come through the ramparts—”

 

“Where we will be waiting.  _ Oui. _ I will see to it.”

 

~

 

Several days passed. It mattered little to Reaper. He had nothing but time.  _ Chasseur _ showed no interest in anything but his surveillance missions. He was not the problem.

 

The problem lay with Diederich's grunts. They liked to slip off the castle grounds for drinking, gambling, sex. They might have lost one or two to the ghost, or an angry card player that didn't mind murdering someone to get their money back. It mattered little what happened to them, only that they kept presenting the ghost with easy targets. If Reaper had to kill them all himself to get them to stay in the trap he would.

 

The next grunt that tried to slip away ended up hung on the castle doors, his skeletal face still frozen in a death scream, sunken, milky eyes staring at nothing.

 

No one else tried to leave after that.

 

Reaper paced the gloomy halls, unmindful of the terrified glares shot his way or the whispered curses in German.

 

Still the ghost did not appear. All according to plan.

 

After a week keeping them indoors, Reaper allowed them out with strict orders. They were to appear cautious, taking the first shipment in weeks. Let the ghost believe they thought they were safe.

 

Reaper touched the comlink in his ear. “Status report.”

 

Nothing but static. He growled. The ghost already got to them? How? It was far too soon. Or was it the terrible reception from the densely packed forest?

 

No need to get angry yet. He flipped the com to  _ Chasseur _ . “Any progress on our ghost?”

 

“Nothing. But there is a not so ethereal someone currently scaling castle ramparts. They have no cover and are not being subtle. Shall I kill them?”

 

“No,” Reaper said, turning and striding to a window that overlooked the front gates of the castle. “Once you set a trap, you never know what will fall into it. Let's see what we've caught.”

 

He cut the line and watched someone leap over the lip of the wall. No climbing gear. They must be very good to scale a wall like that without aid. With inhuman grace, the intruder vaulted over the ledge and landed, cat-like, in the courtyard.

 

He was a strange looking sonofabitch. Tactical boots, black pants, tacky leather jacket, small, yellow canisters strapped to his bicep and on his belt. His face was covered by a black mask and orange visor.

 

In the split second he touched down, Diederich's men opened fire. The intruder lunged forward, whipping out a pair of Helix shotguns.

 

Rage twisted Reaper's guts into knots. His form wavered into smoke as the intruder tore through the grunts without firing a shot. He used his weapons like clubs, bashing the men into unconsciousness rather than killing them.

 

_ Of course _ he would. Smoke streamed from Reaper’s nose and mouth. He shadow stepped down the side of the castle and around the ramparts, burning up his reserves. It didn't matter. He'd burn everything he had.

 

The intruder stood, pressing the side of the visor. A holographic targeting HUD projected in front of him as Reaper materialized behind the unwary man.

 

“Where is he?” the masked man snarled at the single conscious grunt.

 

Jack Morrison woke again at the sound of that harshly distorted voice. Anything  _ he _ had to say was overridden by a wave of wrath so powerful Reaper nearly couldn't hold his form solid. He whipped his rifle out of its holster and pulled the trigger. A burst of pulse fire exploded dead-center on the red “76” emblazoned on the back of the tacky jacket. The man felt forward, groaning, back smoldering, but no blood. The jacket was more than just leather. Should have used the hellfires and vaporized him. Shame.

 

“I'm right here, Gabriel.”

 

The man on the ground groaned, holding his arm, shaking in pain. Good. He deserved a healthy dose of pain.

 

“Always rushing in alone,” Reaper chided, pressing the barrel of the gun into the thick curls that didn't have a strand of gray in them. Unfair. Just like everything else. “I know your every move. Always have, always will.” Yes. He wanted to talk to Gabriel Reyes. He had so much to say after all. “Should have known it would take more than Switzerland going nuclear to kill you.”

 

Gabriel had always been  _ so _ much better than him after all. Of course  _ he _ could just walk off a little thing like an entire compound caving in on him.

 

Everything was so unfair. Reaper had suffered and Gabriel was fine. Everything always went his way. Reaper twisted the muzzle deeper into the curls, forcing Gabriel's head down into the dirt. Not anymore.

 

“Now here you are.” His finger caressed the trigger. “This is how it should have been.” Still, he hesitated. Why?

 

Pain erupted in his neck and shoulder. Reaper snarled, spinning away from it, his form wavering. Between the rage and pain, he was barely keeping himself together.

 

“Get in there, Gabe!” a familiar voice roared.

 

Reaper looked up at a ledge tucked away in a shadow. Before he could move on the ghost, Gabriel lunged, tackling him to the ground. Gabriel sat on his waist, pummeling Reaper's mask with iron fists. No! No, this was not how it was going to happen! Gabriel  _ fucking _ Reyes was not going to win  _ again _ !

 

He caught the next fist mid-swing and twisted it until the elbow nearly snapped. Gabriel rolled away before Reaper could have the satisfaction of breaking his arm. Both of them scrambled to their feet.

 

The fell on each other like feral animals. Punching, slashing, kicking. If they hadn't been wearing masks, probably biting. This is how things should have played out that day in Zurich, if he hadn't been too weak and held back by the good soldier in him. But now that part of him was dead and he was free to show Gabriel Reyes just how strong he was.

 

Reaper smashed his fist into Gabriel's ribs and felt them snap. Gabriel grunted and fell to the ground.

 

“Incoming on your right,”  _ Chasseur _ warned on coms.

 

Reaper lifted his gauntlet and a bullet slammed into the metal harmlessly. “You....”

 

He'd deal with the ghost first. Gabriel wasn't going anywhere fast with broken ribs. He sprinted away, ghosting through a hail of fire and propelling himself up to where their ghost and made their haunt. He rematerialized just as a sidearm was trust in his face, he pivoted as the gun fired.

 

“I've been trying to draw out the one who's been picking off Diederich's men,” Reaper said as he pulled the slug out of his neck. “I never expected that it'd be you, a real ghost. Long time no see, Reinhardt.”

 

“ _ Mien Gott _ ,” the ghost said as Reaper flicked away the blood-less bullet.

 

“Not God. A real ghost.” He lunged, smacking the sidearm out of the giant German's hand and swiping at his face with his claws.

 

Reinhardt dodged, bringing up his rivet gun that Reaper twisted out of his hand.

 

“Not to mention him,” he sneered. “Guess we old soldiers are hard to kill. But I should have known.” He back handed the man, sending him to the ground. Reaper towered over the engineer. “You  _ always _ did take  _ his _ side every time.”

 

With a roar, Reinhardt lunged, grabbing Reaper by the throat and they both toppled off the ledge twenty feet onto stone.

 

Reaper's back took the full force of the impact, blasting his senses from him for a critical moment. Too stunned to move, he couldn't stop Reinhardt from grabbing the mask and wrenching it off.

 

Reinhardt recoiled, dropping the mask. The look of revulsion and horror told Reaper all he needed to know.

 

“ _ Mein Gott _ ! Jack! What happened to you?”

 

“He did this to me, Reinhardt,” Reaper snarled, the strain of his anger and pain making his form waver into smoke. “They left me to become this...  _ thing _ .”

 

“Jack....” Reinhardt's tone softened, his single good eye gazing at him with rapidly building pity.

Reaper didn't want his pity. “He left you to die. He left me to suffer. He will betray you. Don't ever forget that.” He ghosted away leaving his revenge incomplete when he'd had it in the palm of his hand.

 

~

 

He rematerialized in  _ Chasseur _ 's base of operations. Everything hurt, his back ached, the hunger in his chest was unbearable. There were no reserves of energy to draw on to materialize himself another mask. He pulled his hood low as he limped toward the chair the assassin sat at.

 

_ Chasseur _ lifted his gaze and arched an eyebrow.

 

“I want every mission with Overwatch as the target,” Reaper snarled. He'd draw Gabriel out. Every single one of his former agents would die until the bastard himself came to answer for his crimes. “Every. Single. One.”

  
  
  


\--

  
  
  


Killing Overwatch agents didn't bring him pleasure like he hoped it would. Talon sent him coordinates. Reaper went. People died. Life was once again a blur of intel, mission, intel, mission.

 

Sometimes, he ghosted through old Watchpoints. He didn't look for data, he didn't care about it now. He was searching what he'd really been after all these years.

 

But it didn't appear. No matter how many souls he took, Watchpoints he turned inside out, no matter what bait he dangled, nothing. Perhaps it wasn't the right bait. Data, low level agents, easy payloads. What did one use to draw out a man that cared for nothing?

 

How about the people that cared for him?

 

~

 

Reaper watched the small knot of people move through the abandoned Watchpoint.

 

Ana in her golden Isis armor, rainbow cloak fluttering behind her. The good soldier Fareeha, flanking her mother, massive particle cannon charged and ready. Reaper shook his head. He wished she would have chosen a life other than a good soldier. It was going to kill her. Jesse followed behind them, keeping an eye on their six as they moved through the abandoned Watchpoint. Torbjorn was out here too. Reaper could feel his soul energy outside, covering them.

 

He could probably take Jesse and Fereeha easily enough. Ana would be another story. Given enough time, he could wear her down. Torbjorn wouldn't be helpful when they were deep enough inside the base, far from windows.

 

All the prestigious team—minus Amélie—in one place, under threat of Talon. Of course, Reaper was the one who'd tipped off Talon and put them in danger. All part of the plan.

 

Ana led the way down into the lower levels, her shield raised. They'd be fine when the trap was sprung.... probably. Let's see if he came to protect them, or if he'd let them die as well.

 

Reaper waited. And waited.

 

Gunshots echoed up through the lower levels. Ana's battle cry echoed up the ramp. The hum and blast of Fareeha's cannon drowned out the gun fire.

 

Finally, there was a new soul on the fringes of his senses. It steadily came closer. Reaper watched from his vantage point as the man in a tacky leather jacket charged forward toward the ramp leading down.

 

Duel emotions shifted within Reaper like two tectonic plates. On one side, nearly three decades of lava-hot anger. On the other, a cold... disappointment. Of course Gabriel would go charging into danger for them. Always for them, his shining Overwatch family. Never for him. Jack Morrison had long ago resigned himself to the fact that he'd been replaced in Gabriel's heart. He'd grinned and bore it as best he could.

 

Reaper would bear that betrayal no longer. He flung himself from his perch, racing down and colliding with the masked man before he could reach the ramp.

 

They tumbled back in a hail of snarls and limbs. Rolling across the dirt stained floor, Reaper tore at his foe and got clubbed in the head with the butt of a shotgun. Almost mutually, they broke apart and regained their footing.

 

“Well, well. How  _ privileged _ I am that the Strike Commander himself managed to pencil me into his busy schedule.”

 

Gabriel fired his shotguns. Reaper leapt back, unslinging his rifle and returning fire. Gabriel combat rolled behind cover. In a second, he was sprinting for the ramp to the lower levels. No running from this fight. Reaper sent a barrage of hellfires into the entrance. It erupted in fire. Metal groaned and crumpled, masonry was torn from the walls and crashed to the floor. Gabriel skidded to a halt as the only way down was blocked. He turned, raising his shotguns.

 

“You cannot escape Death,” Reaper said.

 

“Who are you, punk?” Gabriel snarled.

 

The duel rage and disappointment collided within him again. Four seconds was all Reaper needed to know it was Gabriel under the mask. But of course it wouldn't have dawned on the idiot that the powerful foe that held his life in his clawed hand could be someone Gabriel considered so beneath him. Jack had  _ never _ been good enough after all.

 

“I am the Reaper, here to collect his due. And you owe one hell of a debt.” He opened fire.

 

Gabriel dodged, sprinting into range and unleashing his guns. Reaper ghosted and the blasts tore through nothing but smoke. He rematerialized and crashed headlong into Gabriel. They collided with the ground again, guns forgotten. Reaper ghosted out of Gabriel's death grip, sliding through his fingers and back up to his feet. As Gabriel tried to get to his feet, Reaper smashed his boot into the visor. Gabriel went tumbling away. Reaper followed, kicking him in the ribs when Gabriel managed to get to his hands and knees.

 

“How does it feel, Strike Commander?” Reaper snarled.

 

The masked faced looked up at him as Gabriel held his side. “I'm just a soldier.”

 

Reaper drew back and slammed his fist into the face he used to kiss. Gabriel crumpled to the ground, groaning.

 

“I'll tell you how I feel,” Reaper snarled. “It feels good to finally beat that condescending look off your face.” He grabbed Gabriel by the back of neck and lifted him up. He almost felt high he was so euphoric. He was finally paying back every single broken promise, every single moment Gabriel had made him feel worthless, every single time he'd felt like an object to be used when it was  _ convenient _ . He beat him down. Lifted him back up and hit him again.

 

Finally he let Gabriel drop to the floor. He stepped around the fallen soldier, coat fluttering behind him as he circled while Gabriel rolled onto his back and gasped.

 

“You never could deal with someone else having power,” Reaper sneered. “And now I'm more powerful than you. Now, I  _ am _ good enough to hit you.” He put his boot on the heaving chest and leaned his weight on it.

 

Gabriel grabbed at his leg, hammered his fists against the knee but the boot protected the joint.

 

“How does it feel, Strike Commander, to have everything come crashing down around you? To have the weight of the world pinning you to the floor.” He stomped down hard. “To be unable to breathe? Unable to move?” He squatted down, wrapping his hand around Gabriel's throat. “How does it feel to choke on your own blood? Because that's what you made me suffer through.”

 

Gabriel clawed at his arm.

 

“Your bill has come due, Strike Commander.”

 

Gabriel jerked, dislodging Reaper's boot and tipping him off balance. Gabriel grabbed the arm strangling him and jerked Reaper forward, sending him tumbling headlong into the floor. He ghosted, flowing away and solidifying.

 

“I owe a debt,” Gabriel said, on his feet, wiping the mask on his sleeve. “But not to you, asshole.”

 

“Yes to me,” Reaper snarled.

 

“No. I owe it to the husband I buried.”

 

Reaper's innards contorted into a festering ball of anger. How  _ dare _ he! “You never had a husband. Unless you found someone after Zurich, which wouldn't surprise me. Maybe even before.” The stalling and avoidance would make more sense. The thought had always been there, in the back of his mind, eating away at his sanity for decades.

 

“You don't know me,” Gabriel spat, “you don't know the man I loved.”

 

Reaper's lips twisted into a harsh smile. “Oh, but I do. I was there when Jack Morrison died.” He pulled back the hood and took off the mask.

 

Gabriel let out a strangled noise. Reaper leered at him. He hadn't fed properly in weeks. A breeze slipped along his burned, blistered face. He could almost feel his eyes sinking into their sockets. Droplets of drool leaked down the side of his face that was missing an entire cheek.

 

“Not as pretty as you remember, am I,  _ cariño _ ?” he spat. “If you even remember. I was so easily replaced, maybe you don't—”

 

“Jack?” Gabriel took a step forward. “How? I... saw your body. I  _ buried _ you.”

 

“The grave couldn't hold me.” Reaper held his ground as Gabriel came closer. “I am Death.”

 

Gabriel cupped Reaper's cheeks, coming closer until they were almost flush. He couldn't move. He was rooted to the spot. Shocks of warmth raced through him. Even through the heavy tactical gloves, Reaper could feel the warmth of living flesh. It felt so good, to feel tenderness again, to be touched at all. His body wavered between smoke and solid.

 

“Jackie,” Gabriel whispered. “It’s really you. What happened?”

 

The rage came surging back. He shoved Gabriel in the chest, sending him sprawling to the ground. The mask misted back into place as he pulled up his hood.

 

“You betrayed me,” he seethed. “You said you would protect me and you didn't. Now I live with the consequences.”

He ghosted without thinking, streaming away into the shadows. He had to get away. Far away. Fast.

 

The whole point of this trap was to kill Gabriel... so then why was he the one that felt trapped?

 

He might be angry and hurt, but he was still in love. Jack Morrison was alive. Buried, but still fighting. 

 

Reaper couldn’t be both of them at once. He had to make a choice. Love or hate?

 

He needed more time to decide.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we have a new swap! Fareeha-Zarya! (not that we see Fareeha too much but she's there!)
> 
> Translations:  
> Bonjour- Hello  
> Chasseur- Hunter  
> Oui- yes  
> fantôme- ghost  
> Mien Gott- My God! (oh my god!)  
> cariño-sweetheart
> 
> One chapter left. Who's ready?


	4. Cover Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's the end of Reaper76 week! 
> 
> Wow guys! I had so much fun, and everyone's responses have been so, so amazing to this story, and to my other ones! WOW! You readers are amazing, and I can't tell you how much each and every kudos and comment means to me! I know I've been slow to get back to all your wonderful comments, but I will get to them all, promise! I hope you've enjoyed this week as much as I have!

**Cover Me**

Comfort

 

“Are you sure this is wise?” Reinhardt asked.

 

76 finished loading the extra bionic emitters into his pack and zipped it closed. Wise? Probably not. “I need to.” He slung the pack over his shoulder. “I owe him.”

 

“Gabriel....” Reinhardt sighed. “I don't want to believe it either, but I don't think he can be saved. He doesn't want to be.”

 

76 twisted the pack strap in his grip. “You don't know that.”

 

“The Jack we knew would never work with Talon. He'd never attack his friends or shoot you.” There was a pause, then a heavy sigh. “Our Jack might really be gone.”

 

“I can't believe it.” If he did, he'd lose him again. 76 wouldn’t survive that.

 

Reinhardt put a hand on his shoulder and squeezed. “I just don't want to see either of you hurt anymore. I've seen enough of it.”

 

76 nodded.

 

“Be careful, Gabriel,” Reinhardt warned.

 

76 left their current hideout. Where he was heading, he didn't know. But he was going to find Jack and bring him home... or die trying.

 

If it hadn't been so bitter, he would have laughed at the irony. Six years ago he'd been in the same situation, just on the other side. He'd warned Jack, told him his friend was gone and not able to be saved because he thought it’d been the right thing to do... now here he was, not giving up on Jack despite what he'd done.

 

“I'm coming,” he said. “Just hold on, Jack. I'm coming.”

  
  
  


\--

  
  
  


It like trying to track a literal ghost. Jack didn't seem to need to eat or sleep. Reports of a black shadow ghosting through firefights bounced around the world. There didn't seem to be a pattern. Jack seemed to have cut ties with everyone. 76 stepped over just as many Overwatch corpses as he did Talon. Warehouse after base after hideout, he was too late. Jack left destruction in his wake, but of the man himself, there wasn't even a curl of smoke. A month 76 followed any whisper he heard. But by the time the rumors reached him, it seemed already too late.

 

He stopped in an alley, slipping behind a corner as a police cruiser drifted by. The price on his head was making his search more and more difficult. He dropped his pack to the ground and leaned back against the wall. Long gone were the days when he could run forever. He needed to rest.

 

“Evnin',” came a soft voice.

 

76's shotguns were drawn and aimed at the shadows across the alley faster than a blink.

 

Someone leaned against the alley wall opposite him. They blew out a stream of white smoke and metal fingers flicked the spent cigarette to the ground.

 

“Good ta see ya too, Strike Commander.”

 

76 lowered his guns slightly. His guest pushed off the wall and strode into the light. She was a little thing, hardly came up to his chest. She wore a high collared brown jacket with a white shirt, covered by bronze body armor. The old, beaten up belt buckle resting on her hip said BAMF. The ends of her black pants were tucked into calf-high, black and white shoes with buttons up the side. She looked like something out of a steampunk novel.

 

“Oxton,” he said, pointing his guns at the ground.

 

She shrugged. “Glad ta see you remember me.”

 

“What do you want?” If she was after the bounty—

 

“Heard there was someone chasing a ghost.” She crossed her arms.

 

“Do you know where he is?”

 

“Maybe I do. Maybe I don't.”

 

He glared at her behind his mask, but kept his frustration in check. “Anything you have on Reaper would be greatly appreciated.”

 

“Why?” she demanded.

 

_ Because I need to find him.... _ He sighed. “If you don't have anything useful, I'll be on my way.” He turned.

 

“Are you going to hurt him?”

 

76 looked over his shoulder at the sharpshooter. Her brown gaze bored into the visor.

 

“Are you going to hunt down the traitor and silence him before he can kill anyone else?” she sneered.

 

His own callus words cut deep. At the time, he'd thought he was doing what he needed to do to protect his family, protect Jack. Now, he realized how cold he'd been. He could still see hope die in Jack's eyes and be replaced with a blank mask that had never waved after that moment. The guilt and nightmares came back. He turned his attention back to Lena before they could overwhelm him. “No. I'm going to save him, if I can.”

 

Her relentless gaze didn't leave his face.

 

“If you know where he is, what he's become, why haven't you gone after him?”

 

“Who says I haven't?” She reached into her coat pocket and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. “Been trying ta get close ta him for ages. But he slips away every time.” She lit up and inhaled a long drag. “Maybe you could.”

 

76 holstered his guns. “You'd help me?”

 

She breathed out a smoke ring. “Maybe.”

 

“Are you being frustrating on purpose?”

 

“I'm an acquired taste.” She took another drag. “I don't know if seeing you would help or hurt him.”

 

“We won't know unless I try.”

 

Lena pondered the smoldering end of her cigarette. “You know... he'd always keep his calendar just about clear June through August. Every year right up until the end.”

 

76's insides twisted with shame and regret... but that gave him a spark of hope. Maybe his Jack was still under the mask somewhere.

 

“If I do this, if I tell you what I know, you swear to me that you are going to fight tooth and nail to bring him back. No cutting your losses, no bullshit about image.”

 

He nodded. “I will.”

 

“If you don't, if he kills you and he's really gone, I have to put him down.” Her expression hardened. “Please. Please don't make me kill the only person that ever saw the good in me.”

 

“I won't let that happen.” He stepped to her and put his hand on her shoulder. “I lost him once. Not again.”

  
  
  


\--

  
  
  


The old Blackwatch outpost was strewn with bodies. 76 knelt and checked one. Still warm. Quiet as he could, 76 moved deeper into the outpost. Lena's intel had been spot on. These were Talon soldiers mixed in with Neo-Twist gangsters. He didn't care what they were up to right now, he only cared about Jack.

 

He'd be after pieces of Minerva's database, if Lena was right about that too. After he'd cleared the outpost, he'd go for the computers. 76 prowled down to the lower level, careful not to let his guard slip. Jack could drop out of nowhere and attack. Or there could be more gangsters hidden somewhere. Though it looked like Jack had been thorough with his onslaught.

 

From the head of the hallway leading down to the terminal farm, Gabe activated his visor. Movement registered, but nothing popped on thermal. Should he try to sneak closer? Announce himself? Would things be better or worse if Jack was caught off guard?

 

Slowly, 76 put his guns away and took a deep breath. If this didn't work, if Jack ran, he'd just have try again. Again and again, whatever it took.

 

“Jack?” he called down the hall.

 

There was no response. Not a great sign, but there was no rocket fire or attack, so it wasn't bad either. For now.

 

“Jack? Are you there?”

 

Nothing. Surely if it was some idiot Talon agent they would have shot at him already.

 

“Come out come out wherever you are.”

 

Still nothing.

 

“If we can't talk, I'm just going to keep following you until we do.”

 

“What do you want, soldier?” Jack's snarl echoed from seemingly everywhere.

 

76 forced his hands away from the butt of his shotguns. He stepped out from behind his cover into the hall. “You used to call me that when you were feeling playful.”

 

“ _ Well hello, soldier,” Jack teased, dragging Gabe to him by the lapels of his dress greens. “Looking for a little fun on your leave time?” _

 

“Do I seem in a playful mood?” Jack's voice spat, shattering the memory. “Say what you want and leave me alone.”

 

76 took his guns out of their holsters and laid them on the floor. “I'm not here to fight.”

 

“I don't care.”

 

“Can I see you?” 76 asked the air. “Speak face to face?”

 

“No.”

 

“It would make me happy if I could see you.”

 

“I'm  _ sick _ of trying to make you happy.” Jack snapped.

 

That hurt. “You never had to try before, you just being you made me happy.”

 

“Oh yes. Sweet golden boy Jack Morrison. Forever at your heel, quick to do his duty. An obedient dog, happy with any scrap of attention you had to spare for him. You did always love that.”

 

76 bristled. He took a slow breath. “This isn't like you, Jack. You know I loved you.”

 

“Did I?”

 

A cloud of smoke streamed out of the computer room and moved along the hall. It passed around 76. He followed it out of the cramped hallway—where his guns would have the best effect—and into a spacious area that might have once been a conference room. The smoke collected into a human form. Reaper stood before him, hood pulled low over the bone-white mask.

 

“This is what your love turned me into.”

 

76 felt like Jack had put a bullet through his heart. “I never meant for this to happen.”

 

“It happened all the same.”

 

They stood in silence for what felt like hours. Jack didn't shift his weight like he used to do when he was uneasy or nervous. The skull-like mask hid what was left of his once expressive face. Maybe Jack had changed too much. But 76 had to try. He had to stay something. Anything. As long as Jack was talking, he was here with him, alive.

 

“The explosion was a set up.”

 

Jack threw back his head and howled with laughter. “You're only figuring that out now? I knew three seconds after it happened.”

 

76 had to admit that it had taken him longer then it should have to come to that conclusion. But he didn't want to believe it. He hadn't wanted to believe someone from his own adoptive family, people he trusted, would have betrayed them.

 

“We could be partners again,” 76 offered. “Me and you, hunting down who did this, just like the old days.”

 

“No.” Jack's form wavered around the edges, trails of smoke curling off his shoulders and elbows. “Teams let you down. Partners betray you.”

 

“But I'm not just a partner,” 76 said, stepping closer. “I'm your husband.”

 

Jack backed away from him. “ _ Fiancé _ ,” he corrected. “You  _ were _ my  _ fiancé _ . Not husband. That's in the past, Gabriel.”

 

“Please don't call me that. Only strangers call me Gabriel.”

 

“You are a stranger to me.”

 

“I don't want to be.” He tried to move closer, to touch him, to hold him, but Jack backed away. “I want to be Gabe again.”

 

“You can't,” Jack whispered. “It's too late. It hurts too much.” His back pressed against a wall.

 

76 took one of the clawed hands and held it, leaning in, their masks nearly touching. “I broke so many promises before. Please... forgive me.”

 

Jack leaned toward him. Claws pierced 76's chest. He gasped, clutching Jack's hand as ghostly fingers reached into his rib-cage, grabbed hold of something, then tore it out. A strange sense of being out of his own body came over him. He looked down. Jack's claws were wrapped around a small ball of golden light. When Jack's claws squeezed, 76 felt like his entire being was being crushed.

 

He wasn't a religious man, but he knew exactly what Jack held. Slowly, he laid his forehead against the cold, white mask.

 

“Take it,” he whispered. “It has always been yours,  _ mi alma _ .” He reached up and took off his mask. Without it, the world blurred into gray. “But at least give me a kiss goodbye?”

 

Jack didn't move. More of him turned into smoke. Gently, 76 grasped the chin of the mask and pushed it up. When he squinted, he could just make out Jack's features. He leaned in, pressing his lips to what remained of Jack's.

 

They kissed, soft and gentle, just like the first time. There was wetness. He didn't know if he was crying or Jack.

 

The hand rammed back into his chest. 76 groaned as his ribs were abused yet again and his soul manhandled back into his body.

 

“I hate you,” Jack said, voice hitching, lips ghosting against 76's. “I hate you so much.”

 

“You have every right to.”

 

“You betrayed me,” Jack said. “Humiliated me. Stuck me in Blackwatch and forgot about me.” He began to shake.

 

76 pulled him against this chest and held him there. Jack snarled, thrashing, clawing, trying to get away.

 

“Let me go! You lying, cheating, son of a bitch!”

 

76 squeezed tighter. “No.”

 

Jack screamed, jerking side to side. “Let me go! You were never there! Your precious Overwatch was always more important!”

 

“I'm sorry,” 76 whispered, holding onto Jack for dear life.

 

“How many nights did I spend alone?” Jack screamed. “How many promises did you break? You said I wasn't good enough, but I was! You just never saw it! I'm just as good as you!”

 

“I know.” 76 hooked his fingers into claws as Jack's body started evaporating away into smoke he couldn't hold.

 

“You never called! Ever! You never visited me in the hospital! You went to Christmas without me! You adopted a child without me!”

 

“I so, so sorry, Jackie.”

 

“Don't call me that! You don't have any right to. You said you'd protect me but you let me die!”

 

76 broke, burying his face into Jack's neck. “I've never forgiven myself for any of it,” he whispered, tears trickling down his cheeks. “Never.”

 

With an anguished cry, Jack's knees gave out. He slumped into 76's arms, trembling, claws sunk into the leather jacket. He buried his face into 76's chest. “I hate you.”

 

“I know.”

 

“I hate you so much!”

 

76 sank to the floor, holding Jack's quaking form to his chest. “I know,  _ mi amor _ , I know.” Gently, he rocked them back and forth. He pushed back the hood and buried his face into the moonlight hair.

 

“I asked too much of you,” he whispered as Jack broke down. “I always asked for more and you always gave until you'd given everything.”

 

Silver claws scraped harmlessly down the leather jacket sleeves.

 

“It was selfish of me. I put myself, I put Overwatch before you.”

 

Jack's shoulders hitched as he sobbed. 76 wrapped one arm around the trembling shoulders as the other stroked up and down his back, comforting him as best he could.

 

“I was going to fix things later. Always later. After some important mission, when I was given some time to just breathe. It was always later... until it was too late.”

 

Warm tears trickled into the white hair.

 

“I lost my whole world when I lost you, Jackie.  _ Fuiste mi corazón _ _. Mi alma. _ Without you, I'm nothing.” 

 

The silver claws slowly dissolved into smoke and disappeared. Gray, scarred hands reached up and curled into the front of 76's jacket. Jack buried his face into the crook of 76's neck.

 

“Gabe....”

 

Gabe clutched his  _ corazón _ to him, rocking them back and forth. “ _ Lo siento, _ Jackie.  _ Perdóname por favor.” _

 

They sat there, in the middle of a deserted outpost, for hours. Gabe didn't care. He'd stay here the rest of his life if that's what Jack asked of him. He rocked them back and forth, whispering whatever came to mind. His smoke ravaged throat ached, his voice getting quieter until it was barely there.

 

Finally, Jack stilled. His breathing evened out. Gabe kissed his hair.

 

“I forgive you,” Jack whispered. He untangled and hand from Gabe's jacket.

 

“ _ Muchas gracias, mi amor.” _ Gabe interlaced their fingers together. “I don't deserve it.”

 

Jack sighed, a stream of smoke slipping through his lips. Gabe tucked Jack against him, nestling his head in the crook of his neck. Jack relaxed.

 

“I promise,” Gabe said. “I'll be there for you.”

 

Jack's answer was even breathing and a soft snore. Gabe smiled and rested his cheek on the moonlight hair.

  
  
  


\--

  
  
  


Gabe hung back as Jack materialized outside the motel room door. He lifted his hand to the door, hesitated, pulled his hood down lower, then knocked.

 

Two pulse pistol barrels greeted him when the door opened.

 

“Lena,” Jack said, shifting his weight from his right foot to his left.

 

The guns didn't waver.

 

“I owe you an apology.”

 

“For killing Gabriel?” Lena growled.

 

Jack shook his head. “For disappearing. I made a promise that I'd be there, but I wasn't. I'm sorry.”

 

Gabe stepped to Jack side, ignoring the pistol pointed at him. “Can we come in?”

 

Lena's eyes widened. Her gaze darted from him to Jack. “You’re really back?”

 

Jack nodded. Lena drew back and punched him in the face.

 

“Do you have any idea how much I cried?” Lena raged, five feet of nothing but fury. “First  Gérard , then you? I hate crying! Hate it!”

 

Jack rubbed his chin as he turned back to her. “I'm sorry.”

 

“Yeah, well, sorry don't cut it!”

 

Jack opened his arms and pulled her into a hug. Lena clutched at his back, shaking.

 

“Don't ever do that to me again,” she muttered into his shoulder.

 

“I won't.”

 

“Ever. I mean it. I'll kill you.”

 

“I know.” Jack hugged her harder.

  
  
  


\--

  
  
  


“ _ Papi _ !” Jesse bashed into him at full speed, nearly knocking Gabe to the ground. His arms and legs wrapped around him like a six-foot-one octopus.

 

Gabe hugged his not-so-little-now time traveler. It'd been too long since he'd seen him. “ _ Hola, ni _ _ ñ _ _ o.  _ _ ¿Me echaste de menos?” _

 

“ _ ¡Por supuesto que sí?” _

 

“What about me?” Lena said, strutting through the Watchpoint door like she owned the place.

 

“Lena!” Jesse dropped Gabe like a bag of rocks and swept Lena up in his arms, swinging her around like a doll. “It's been way too long, big sister!”

 

Lena chuckled and slapped the back of his head. “Put me down!”

 

He obeyed, setting her back on her feet. She pulled at his beard. “When did you start taping dead animals to your face?”

 

Jesse laughed. “You're just jealous that I'm so ruggedly handsome.”

 

The two bantered back and forth like the last six years never happened. Gabe glanced back at the door. Jack wasn't there. Fear gripped his heart. He look a steadying breath. No. Jack would never abandon them. If he wasn't here, he had a good reason.

 

“ _ Papi _ ?”

 

Jesse's voice dragged him back to the present. “ _ Si, ni _ _ ñ _ _ o _ ?”

 

“Is there something out there?” Jesse looked out the door. His smile faded. He was gone in a trail of blue leading outside.

 

“I hate it when he does that,” Lena growled.

 

“Come on!” Gabe snapped, rushing after his son. If he'd seen Jack before they could explain and they fought—

 

Jesse stood in one of the dark corners of the mothballed hanger bay. The bright, blue light of his chronal accelerator spilling across a form in a black hoodie. Gabe judged the distance, factored in short cuts, but he'd never make it between them before—

 

Jesse lunged. Jack backed away, but he wasn't fast enough. Jesse wrapped his arms around his neck and pulled him into a hug.

 

Jack froze, hands held out on either side of the boy, as if he was unsure what to do with them. Gabe and Lena slowed and stopped.

 

“You owe me a hell of a lot of lunches,” Jesse mumbled into Jack's shoulder. “And about five thousand hours at the range together.”

 

“You're not....” Jack's fingers curled and uncurled. “Aren't you....”

 

“Mad?” Jesse shook his head. “You're alive and okay and back. Nothing else matters.” He squeezed him tighter. “Welcome home.”

  
  
  


\--

  
  
  


Jack refused to go into the Watchpoint. Gabe couldn't blame him. Angela was gracious enough to give him a second chance and extend an invitation to join the new Overwatch, but Jack refused that too. He was still processing. Hell, Gabe was still processing things himself.

 

But he knew this new Overwatch wasn't for him. This belonged to the new generation. He wished them luck, and he'd be there to help, but he wasn't going to join. He had his own mission, one that he'd put off for a long time.

 

Jack materialized next to him on the roof of the Watchpoint. Together, they watched the lazy waves of the Mediterranean sea sparkling in the moonlight. Gabe shifted his weight and leaned a little closer. Ever so slightly, Jack leaned away.

 

It spoke volumes. Jack wasn't comfortable, didn't entirely trust him. He was ready to run at any moment. Gabe leaned away. Slowly, Jack's rigid posture relaxed and he settled back down on the retaining wall on the end of the roof.

 

Gabe sighed. It was his own fault. Long ago, Jack had loved affectionate contact. A brush of fingers along his hand. A sly smile and wink. A gentle kiss on the cheek. Gabe had loved teasing Jack with dozens of little displays of affection. He'd been so adorable, rosy blush on his pale cheeks, shyly interlacing their fingers as he told Gabe to stop, even though he never did anything to stop the teasing. When had Gabe stopped showering Jack in affection? He couldn't even remember.

 

When had he stopped seeking Jack out for little comforts? Stopped making time to hunt him down just for a kiss? When had he forgotten that Jack, no matter the SEP injections or Blackwatch training, was still just a shy, unsure farmboy under the soldier guise he donned? Gabe didn't know how to mend the trust he'd broken. Maybe he couldn't.

 

“Gabe.”

 

It was nice to be Gabe again. Not Strike Commander. Not Gabriel. Just Gabe. He cocked his head Jack's direction.

 

“Are you trying to intimidate the view?” Jack asked. “You're staring like it's done something wrong.”

 

“Just... thinking.”

 

“Aren't you always?”

 

He nodded.

 

Jack tugged his hood down even lower and continued staring at the ocean.

 

God. Gabe missed the days when all he had to do was draw Jack into his arms and he'd tell him what was wrong. If only he could hold Jack and ask how he could make things right.

 

“I....”

 

Jack glanced at him, the hood covering most of his face.

 

Gabe sighed and let his shoulders slump. He was never good with words. Shaking his head, he went back to glaring at the ocean.

 

They stayed like that for a while. Jack didn't leave like Gabe thought he might. He was grateful for that. After so long apart, just... being with Jack made him ache less. Jack's red eyes almost seemed to glow in the moonlight. They were pretty with the new color. Gabe wondered if he should say that out loud. Would that upset him? Did he miss the blue? Gabe sighed ran his fingers through his hair.

 

“You're still not good with words, are you?”

 

Gabe shook his head.

 

“If you don't say what's on you mind I think you might explode.”

 

Always perceptive. Gabe reached up and took off the mask, setting it aside. “I don't know how to fix this,” he admitted. “All I want to do is make it up to you, but where do I even start? How can I? I don't even know the full extent of what I've done.”

 

How many little things had inflicted wounds on Jack's heart? How many times had he not been there to see him off or welcome him home? How many times had he made Jack cry alone in his empty bed that he didn't know about?

 

Gabe flinched as a dark shape appeared by his face.

 

“Sorry,” Jack said. There was a pause. “Can you really not see?”

 

Gabe shook his head. “Just blurs. No details.” He reached up and touched the blur. Under his fingers, the shape quickly took the form of a hand.

 

Slowly, Jack's fingertips touched his cheek. They followed the curve of his jaw, over his beard and lips, tracing the smaller scar before gingerly touching the big one that slashed across his face.

 

“Still handsome,” Jack said.

 

“So are you.”

 

“You say that because you've lost your sight. I'm monstrous.”

 

“I might only be able to see blurs, but Jack, you're the most beautiful blur in the world.”

 

Jack chuckled. It was just a soft, shadow of what it once had been. But it was something. Something he'd missed for so long.

 

“Your pickup lines are still terrible.”

 

Gabe smiled and turned back to the view. He felt Jack lean on the little wall. The moon slowly floated through the sky. Gabe found his mind wandering again.

 

He'd always been a strategist. An unbreachable compound, he'd find a way in. Unbeatable defense, he'd find a way behind it. Making up for nearly two, or three decades of time with the man he loved most? He tugged at his coat collar and ran his finger along the chain around his neck.

 

“Jack....” He couldn't see if Jack was looking, or if he was even there still, but he had to trust. “I made you a promise a long time ago.” Carefully, he unclipped the chain and took it off. “If you're done with my promises, I understand. But if... if you can take a chance on me one more time....” He put the warm, little charm that had hung above his heart for six years on the wall and slid it toward Jack.

 

There was no sound. No movement. Gabe itched to grab the mask and put it back on so he could see if he'd just made a fool of himself talking to air. He forced himself not to reach for it. His heart beat harder, his palms felt sweaty but cold. This was even worse than the first time around.

 

It must have been ten minutes of silence. Or maybe ten seconds. Gabe shifted away, turning his face and clearing his throat.

 

“I understand. It was stupid of me. Forget it.” He grabbed the—

 

A cold hand slipped over his. He stopped. Jack turned Gabe's palm over.

 

“You kept it?” Jack asked softly.

 

“Of course I did,” Gabe said. He opened his hand. “It was the only thing I had left of you. It reminded me of what... I'd lost.”

 

Another blur appeared by his face. He flinched again. Jack shushed him softly and clicked the mask back into place.

 

The world came back from the gray blur it'd been. Jack stood in front of him, hand cupping his cheek. He stared into the visor, his expression set in something between firm disapproval and... dare he hope, happiness?

 

“If I take this,” Jack said, his voice wavering. “You have to mean it, Gabriel. Mean it with your whole heart.”

 

“I do.” Gabe took the small ring from Jack's palm, running his finger over the inscription on the inside.

 

_ Mi corazón. _

 

His heart. His compassion and light.

 

“If you want to take me back.”

 

“I do.” Jack's hand turned smokey. It threaded through the plain, gold band and then solidified once more.

 

That's where the ring had always belonged.

 

Jack turned his hand over and held out his palm. Gabe fished the band's mate from the hidden inside pocket of his jacket and placed it in Jack's waiting hand. Jack studied the ring for a moment, thin trails of smoke trickling from the corners of his eyes.

 

“ _ Mi Alma _ ,” he read the familiar inscription before sliding the ring on to Gabe's finger. “My Soul. My strength and dedication.”

 

Gabe took off the mask and leaned in. This time, Jack didn't lean away.

 

“No more missions.” Jack said. “No more meetings. No more Overwatch. You're mine to the end, Gabe.”

 

“You're my whole world,” Gabe whispered. He brushed away the little stream of tear-smoke and kissed the blistered skin of Jack's forehead. “My only mission is to make you happy.”

 

“You just being you—the real you—makes me happy,” Jack whispered back.

 

“I won't lose you.” Gabe cradled Jack’s face in his callused palms. “I wouldn’t survive the heartbreak a second time.” 

 

Jack leaned in, his cold lips fluttered against Gabe’s. “Don’t worry,  _ mi luna _ ,” he said. “I’ll protect you.” 

  
  
  


 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's the end of the story! ... or is it? (you might want to bookmark this fic, just saying, there is a chapter 5 now in the works!) 
> 
>    
> The wonderful friend Midna_Ronoa gave me translations. I don't know what I would do without them!   
> Translations:  
> Fuiste mi corazón. Mi alma.- You were my heart. My soul.  
> Lo siento, Jackie. Perdóname por favor- I’m sorry. Please forgive me  
> ¿Me echaste de menos?- Did you miss me?  
> ¡Por supuesto que sí?- Of course I did!  
> Mi luna- my moon


	5. Out in the Cold

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> GUYS. It's been nearly a year to the day. 
> 
> But finally. It's finished. 
> 
> Allow me to break our hearts one more time.... 
> 
>  
> 
> (At least for this story. I'm sure I'll break our hearts in many fics to come.)

**Out in the Cold**

Day 5: Downfall- falling out/heartache

  
  


“Strike-Commander,” the Prime Minister of Britain said, steepling his fingers. “You can’t be serious about this choice.” 

 

Gabe sat unmoving in his chair, hands clasped before him on the desk. “I would never joke about something like this.” 

 

The chancellor on the right, what’s-her-name, scoffed. “He was ready to turn the offer down. You think you can talk him into it?” 

 

“I spoke with Commander Morrison about his unique merits. He’s come to the same conclusion I have. He’s the best qualified candidate to head Blackwatch.” 

 

Secretary-General Petras heaved a long sigh. “Mr. Reyes, no one here is doubting Mr. Morrison’s merits. He has proved, time and time again, that he is an exceptional soldier with upstanding character, moral fortitude, and boundless compassion. All things that could hold back a black operations director from doing what needs to be done.” 

 

“Those are exactly why I nominated him,” Gabe said, doing this best not to walk over to that ridiculously huge desk and wring all their necks one by one. 

 

“Then please enlighten us,” the Secretary-General said. 

 

“Black operations are, by their very definition, secretive. In order to function, they have to be given less oversight than any other type of team to maximize their efficiency. That means power. Power corrupts. To put a questionable man or woman in charge is to incite abuses later. What we need is a heart, a soul, in charge. Someone who sees power as an obligation, not a tool.” He pointed to his tablet. “If you don’t put Commander Morrison in change, I can guarantee you will have an international incident sooner than you realize.” 

 

Petras arched an eyebrow. “Is that a threat?” 

 

“No, sir. Just simple fact. People with questionable morals who are given power will only make questionable decisions.” 

 

“Or,” the Prime Minister said. “You’re stocking the ranks with people loyal to you. Solidifying power.” 

 

“I’m putting the right people with the most talent for the job in the right places.” It helped that they were all people he knew well. But Jack was the only one he could truly trust. “World safety and the safety of the people under my command are the only things I’m thinking about when nominating my candidates, Prime Minister.”

 

The man’s face flushed red. Clearly, he had expected Gabe to knuckle under. Not a chance in hell. Gabe was no one’s puppet. He would do what was best for Overwatch and the world. Not some politician asshole.  

 

“Strike-Commander Reyes,” Petras cut in. “Need I remind you, your position is appointed by this council? Disharmony between us will not be tolerated.” 

 

“Yes, Sir.” 

 

“And that your appointment was only by a narrow margin?” 

 

Gabe swallowed his frustration. “Yes. Sir.” 

 

Petras sat back in his his, drumming his fingers. “I shall allow your choice.” 

 

“But, Anton!” the Prime Minister scoffed. “You can’t be serious!” 

 

It was hard, but Gabe kept himself from smirking. “Thank you, Secretary-General.”

 

“But,” Petras continued. “If he can’t make the tough choices, if his character gets in the way, it’s both your asses, understand?” 

 

“Yes, Sir.” 

  
  
  
  


“Still don’t know why you nominated me,” Jack said. 

 

Gabe nuzzled into the nape of his  fiancé’s neck, arms encircling Jack’s barrel chest as they spooned. “Because you’re the best, Jack. I won’t have to worry knowing you have my back.” He kissed the broad shoulders. “Let’s not talk about work right now.” 

 

Jack shifted, rolling over so they faced each other. He reached up and put a hand on Gabe’s cheek. God, he was so handsome. Gabe was falling into those blue eyes. How had he ever got so lucky that Jack noticed him? Let alone stuck around to see what was beyond his defenses.

 

“I trust you not to lead me astray,” Jack said. “If you think I’m up to the task, I’ll do it.” 

 

“You’re more than ready to lead.” Gabe closed his eyes and pressed his forehead to Jack’s. “I’ll always have your back if you need me.” 

 

“You let me die.” 

 

Gabe opened his eyes. Jack’s face was a bloody mess of torn flesh and broken bone. The once sparkling blue eyes were clouded over and distant, unseeing. Fire licked at his hair as the world burned around them.

 

“No!” Gabe screamed, bloody hands cupping his fiancé’s broken face. “No! Please!”

 

“You killed me.” Jack’s mouth opened. Blood poured out of it, covering Gabe’s hands in crimson. “You didn’t protect me.”

 

They both went up in flames. 

  
  
  


Gabe started awake, his body burning. Where was he? Had to get out. Where was Jack? Save him! It wasn’t too late he just had to get out!

 

His prison was a dark, blurry square with a few boarded up windows. Gabe went to one, grabbed a board and wrenched it off. No one stopped him. The blazing afternoon sun burned his eyes. He put a hand up to shield himself. 

 

Agony engulfed his face. He staggered away from the window, clutching his face as it throbbed. What the hell was going on? He opened his eyes. The world was still a jumble of blurs. Feeling his way along a wall, he found a door and opened it. 

 

Through the haze of gray, he saw the vague outline of a sink. He stumbled to it. The water was ice cold. It numbed the pain, but it didn’t clear his eyes. He leaned toward the wall, hoping there was as mirror. 

 

When he squinted, he could just make out his reflection.  Half a dozen stitches held his face together. He cheekbone and lips were slashed. Every inch of his face and neck was black and blue. It looked like he’d been in an explosion. Explosion. 

 

It all rushed back. He sank to his knees, anguished cry tearing out of his raw throat. 

 

It was all gone. 

 

Jack was dead. 

  
  


~

  
  
  


“If you don’t say what’s on your mind,” Jack said, “I think you might explode.”

 

Damn right. Gabe wanted to tell him a hell of a lot. The Oxton girl was a liability. You’re taking a huge risk. I know you want kids, but this isn’t the way to get them. He sighed and instead said; “Are you sure you’re up to this?” 

 

Jack gave him that look. That look of “you’re questioning me? Again?” He wished Jack would see it wasn’t to step on his toes. 

 

“If I wasn't, do you think I'd take her on?” Jack’s tone was even, but clipped. “She's proficient in a variety of small arms. She can drive anything you stick her in. Have you tried driving in London traffic? You don't. You sit and crawl. And she managed to get away from every single heist in a car. She's an asset better utilized for good than letting her rot in prison. She deserves another chance.”

 

“I'm not saying she doesn't. I just want you to know, you need to be firm with her. If you're going to bring her around, you can't be her friend. You need to be her commander. She's not a little girl that needs to be adopted and cared for.”

 

He regretted the words the moment he said them. Jack’s eyes widened just a fraction of a second before his expression smoothed back to neutral. Gabe knew Jack wanted to settle down, have kids, grow old. And Gabe wanted that too… in a few years. Kids right now just seemed too much. He wanted to be there, be a dad, not a man seen at random intervals when his schedule allowed it. 

 

“She'll impress you,” Jack said. “Sometimes you just have to show someone a little faith when they need it most.”

 

Gabe smiled. Good, Jack didn’t take his thoughtless comment to heart. “I know you'll whip her into shape,  _ oro _ .” He pulled Jack into a hug.

 

Jack melted against him, their lips meeting in a long, lingering kiss. God, he missed him. It’d been weeks since they had more than a few hours together. All he wanted to do was hold him for days. “Missed you,” he said.

 

“How was Egypt?”

 

Work. He didn’t want to talk about that when he finally had a moment alone with his Jack. “Hot. Sandy.”

 

Jack chuckled. “You should have felt right at home. LA's a desert.”

 

“Would have rather been here with you.”

 

Jack wrapped his arms around Gabe's waist. “Agreed.”

 

“My place for dinner, or yours?”

 

Jack pouted. “Yours. I'm sure you have an early morning.”

 

“A late night too,” Gabe confessed. “I have to interview someone.” 

 

“God help them,” Jack chuckled. “Don’t be late or dinner will be cold.” 

 

“You’ll warm it up for me, wouldn’t you?” Gabe teased. 

 

Jack pushed him back. “If you’re a good boy, maybe I’ll wear that apron you like.” 

  
  
  
  


“Doctor Ogundimu,” Gabe said, casually scrolling through the man’s file. “I must say, I’m both impressed and confused. Not an easy combination to achieve.” 

 

“Should I take that as a compliment?” the man asked. 

 

Gabe glanced up at his interviewee. He was a full foot taller than Gabe himself, massive shoulders, lean waist, muscular limbs. All of that wrapped up in a suit that most likely cost as much as a down payment on a Ferrari. But much more impressive was the brain behind it all. 

 

“Dozens of awards, countless glowing articles, from the moment you graduated you’ve been extended offers of employment at virtually every scientific company in the world. I’m told Volskaya and Vishkar were in a bidding war over you.” 

 

“Nothing as glamorous as that,” Ogundimu said with a smile. “I admit that I might have led them on for selfish reasons, but my intent has always been to work for Overwatch.” 

 

“Seems like a downgrade from the life of comfort you could easily have, Doctor Ogundimu.” 

 

“Akande, please. Doctor Ogundimu is my father.” 

 

“Akande,” Gabe corrected. “Why would you petition me for a job, when you have much more lucrative options?”

 

“You strike me as a man who knows a lie when he hears it. If you will allow me, let's cut the bullshit shall we?” 

 

Gabe waved his hand for him to continue. 

 

Akande smoothed down the lapels of his suit. “You are rightfully wondering why I would turn down two corporations that are even larger than my family’s. It’s a simple answer. Necessity is the mother of invention. Without necessity, without struggle, humanity stagnates. If I were to go to Volskaya or a company similar, I would be given everything I wanted. And in return, I would work on their simple puzzles. Profit margins would be king, and I would work day and night to fill someone’s pockets with my genius. In short, Mr. Reyes, I would stagnate.” 

 

“But not here?”

 

Akande shook his head. “Overwatch would afford me something the others could not: struggle. I would have a budget I would have to work within, problems that must be solved in weeks, days, perhaps hours. What I would do here, would impact the entire world, not just the marketplace.” He smiled, his handsome face slipping into an almost self-satisfied expression. “And I have a hunch that you would not bow to my father’s wish to keep me locked in a boardroom. I must confess again, that is the real prize for me.” 

 

A scientific genius with daddy issues. This could be complicated. But he couldn’t turn down an asset like this. Gabe stood and offered his hand. “Welcome to Overwatch.” 

  
  
  
  


A hand brushed down his back. Gabe snuggled closer to the warmth beside him.

 

“You’re hogging the blanket,” Jack said. “I don’t know how, but you are.” 

 

“I get cold when I watch movies.” 

 

“Watching? Ha. You’ve spent more time with your eyes closed then watching.” 

 

“Can’t help it, I have such a cozy space heater to keep me warm.” 

 

Jack chuckled, running his head down Gabe’s back. “If you’re tired, just go to sleep.” 

 

“No.” They got so little time together anymore, he didn’t want to waste a moment of it. “I’m fine.”

 

“You’ll work yourself to death if you keep this up.” 

 

“I’m a super soldier, Jack. Work can’t kill me.” 

 

“But it killed me.”

 

Gabe recoiled. He wasn’t on the couch anymore. He was in his office. Jack was on the other side of the desk, fire and fury in his eyes. 

 

“ You wanted my compassion and you got it.” Blood dribbled over Jack’s lips. “Now when it's not convenient for you, you want me to abandon it.” 

 

“No!” Gabe said. He tried to move around the desk, to go to Jack, but his legs were frozen. “No, please! There’s still time!” 

 

“It's the whole reason y _ ou _ stuck  _ me _ here. It’s why I died. Your job didn’t kill you, it killed me.”

 

The office exploded. 

  
  
  


Shots rang out. Gabe snapped back to the present. He reeled, stumbling back from the gathered crowd. No one gave him a second look. Their attention and bowed heads were trained on the casket wreathed in flowers making its way toward the hole in the dirt. Gabe wished he could have seen the details, but he had were vague outlines and shades of grey. 

 

The line of riflemen fired again. Gabe flinched, pulled his hood lower, and tried to keep it together. 

 

The casket passed by his section, close enough for him to make out the pallbearers’ faces. Ana was the lead. She walked with slow, measured steps, head high. On the other side of the box was Torbjörn. His customary scowl was gone, replaced with a somber frown. Amélie, tears silently cutting through her makeup, shared the middle pall with Winston. Last was Angela and Jesse. Poor Jesse looked shell shocked, shuffling along in a haze, eyes unfocused. 

 

Gabe’s lungs seized. Another coughing fit gripped him. He turned, shuffling away from the crowd as he struggled to breathe. The volley of fire came again. Gabe squeezed his eyes closed as he hurried over the headstones. The coughs wracked him until he was forced to stop. Finally, the fit passed. He pulled his hands away. They were covered in blood. 

 

“Fuck,” he mumbled. He wiped his mouth on his dirty sleeve. “Not now.” 

  
  
  


~

  
  
  


Lena put her hands on her hips and smirked at Jesse. “Well, well, well. A real American cowboy. Right from the west and everything.”  She tapped the metal harness the boy wore over his red-plaid shirt.

 

That finally got Jesse to crack a smile. “Yes, ma’am.”

 

She giggled that bubbly little laugh of hers. “I’m just happy I’m not the shortest person here anymore. Thanks, love.” 

 

“Name’s, McCree,” Jesse said, tipping his hat. “Pleasure ta meet ya.” 

 

Lena positively beamed. “Ooh, you are gonna be a heartbreaker when you’re older.” She extended her hand. “Lena. I have a feelin’ we’re gonna get along.” 

 

A shudder went down Gabe’s back. Good lord. Those two working together had trouble written all over it. 

 

“Strike-Commander,”  Amélie said behind him. 

 

Gabe looked over his shoulder. 

 

“Doctor Ogundimu wishes to speak with you.” 

 

“Of course.” Gabe put his hand on Jesse’s shoulder. “I have to go for a moment, will you be all right if Agent Oxton looked after you?” 

 

Jesse started at him with wide eyes like Gabe had said I’m going to abandon you. 

 

“Do you like cake, love?” Lena asked. “Because I happen to know where they keep the cake ‘round here. And the soda pop.” 

 

Jesse looked at her. “What kind of cake?”

 

Lena shrugged and winked at him. “Only one way to find out.”

 

Jesse turned back to Gabe. “I’ll be okay.” 

 

Gabe rolled his eyes the moment he turned and the kids couldn’t see him. Lord. The last thing they needed around here was another teen. Amélie offered him a tablet. 

 

“The United States government is already requesting the boy be sent back to them.” 

 

“Stall,” Gabe said. “Jesse isn’t going anywhere.” 

 

Amélie nodded, tucking the tablet behind a second one. “Shall I clear Commander Morrison for a debrief on Project Slipstream?” 

 

“No, not right now.” Jack would understand. “Let’s put out the fires and make sure Jesse has a safe place to go before we start treating him like a mission acquisition.” He strode to his office door that swished open. 

 

Akande was already there. He waited by Gabe’s desk, lab coat draped over the guest chair. 

 

“You wanted to speak with me?” Gabe asked. 

 

“I think I have a solution,” Akande said. “I’ve made a few calls to some friends.” He grimaced. “Family friends, but I thought this was worth it.” 

 

“And?” Gabe asked. 

 

“The problem is that the boy has no living kin to return him to. Since he is an American citizen, they have the most leverage to take custody.” 

 

“And experiment on him,” Amélie scoffed. 

 

Akande nodded. “But, that’s only in the absence of family. If he had family, he would go to them.” 

 

Gabe crossed his arms. “What are you getting at?” 

 

“This.” Akande handed him a tablet. 

 

Gabe took it. The first three words stopped him cold.  _ Petition for Adoption _ . A lump stuck in this throat. 

 

“Adoption?” Amélie asked. “Can it be done?” 

 

Akande nodded. “Gabriel is the very definition of an adoption applicant. Steady job, enough income to provide, war hero. He was the one who saved the boy.” 

 

Gabe still found it hard to speak and wrap his mind around it. Adopting a child. “And if the US doesn’t take this lightly?” 

 

Akande put his hands before him and spread his fingers. “Then they will have a public relations nightmare on their hands. The Strike-Commander, risking his life to save an orphan, and then creates a bond and wishes to adopt him? The public would never allow anyone to take Jesse from you, Gabriel.” 

 

“It’s a lot to think about,” he said. He had to talk to Jack about it. “I’ll have to discuss it with my partner.” 

 

Akande shook his head. “This is a time sensitive matter. And even if… nevermind.” 

 

Gabe put the tablet down on his desk, his mood shifting to anger. “Even if what?”

 

The brilliant scientist looked sheepish. “I don’t mean any disrespect, but, it has to be you. Just you.” 

 

“Why?” This could be what he and Jack needed. Jack had been a little… distant lately. But isn’t this what they wanted? Kids? Granted far too soon for Gabe, but there was no better reason to get over his fears and take the leap. And hadn’t Jack proved himself good father material with Lena? They were practically joined at the hip. “Wouldn’t a steady, long term relationship between two parents look even better and more legitimate?” 

 

“Normally yes, but—”

 

“But what, Akande?” He was treading on very thin ice. 

 

The scientist took a breath and blew it out slow. “As I said, I don’t mean any disrespect. I have nothing but admiration for Commander Morrison… but he wouldn’t be a suitable applicant.” 

 

Gabe lifted his chin. “Think very carefully about what you say next.” 

 

“Commander Morrison is the leader of a division that is not supposed to be known or exist,” Akande said. “He would either have to claim not to have a job, which would be lying on an official document, or would have to say he is the head of a black operations division. No adoption service in any county would allow that.” 

 

“ Gérard and I will do it,” Amélie said, crossing her arms. 

 

Gabe stared at her. “You don’t have to.” 

 

“I want to,” she said. “We want to. We wanted children but— We have everything that Gabriel does. Steady jobs, Gérard still has ties to his former life. Blackwatch will never come up.” 

 

“But you’re not a US citizen,” Akande said. “That would only make things harder. We have to move now. Gabriel, it has to be you if you want to have any hope of saving the boy.”

 

Amélie put her hand on Gabe’s arm. “I think you should at least talk to him first.” 

 

“Jack will understand.” Gabe picked up the tablet and filled in the information. If this was the only way to keep the poor kid safe, so be it. Jack had saved Lena, he was doing the same thing with Jesse. He signed the last line and handed the tablet to Akande. “Let me know when it’s official.” He hesitated. “Thank you for the help.” 

 

“It is what I do.” Akande scooped up his lab coat and left the office. 

 

Once the door was closed, Amélie sighed. 

 

“You don’t think I should have,” Gabe said.

 

“You did the right thing.” She turned and looked at Gabe, worry etched into her face. “Go talk to him before he finds out from someone else.”

  
  
  
  


Gabe set the empty bottle beside the headstone. He couldn’t see it in the middle of the night, but he could feel it. The stone was cold, just like Jack had been in those last— It was fitting that he’d lost his sight. He only wished he’d lost it a few moments sooner than he had. The last image was burned into his eyes, into his mind, and no amount of booze could erase it. He couldn’t sleep. He was barely holding it together.

 

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, running his fingers over the letters cut into stone. “I’m so, so sorry, Jack.” 

 

It was all his fault. He was supposed to be looking out for everyone, but he’d failed. He failed Reinhardt. Amélie. Lena. Jesse. Gérard. And Jack. Jack had trusted him, believed in him, and Gabe had unknowingly betrayed him. No. That was an excuse. He’d always known. He’d just made excuses. He’d stood by and let this happen. 

 

He reached down and dug his fingers into the grass. Gabe had done this, but not on his own. There were others who manipulated his hand, and he’d been too blind to see it. They’d killed Jack. They had to pay. He had to atone. 

 

“I’m going to find them,” he told Jack’s resting place. “I’m going to find who did this to us, and I’m going to make them pay for hurting you.” 

 

He kissed his fingertips and pressed them to the cold granite. “Wait for me,  _ cielo _ . I’ll be with you soon.”

  
  
  
  


~

  
  
  
  


“The restaurant is all clear, Reyes,” Torbjörn’s voice said in Gabe’s ear. “Got a good view. If you don’t order me something to go, we’re going to have a problem.” 

 

“Mind on the mission,” Gabe said softly, taking a drink of his wine and glancing around the patio. 

 

“You kidding me? This is the closest I’ve had to a adult dinner in decades. I can’t bring nine kids to a place like this. Let me live vicariously through you.” 

 

Gabe ignored his sniper. Thank God he only had Jesse and, to an extent, Lena. He wouldn’t mind bringing them here. Or Jack. God, how long had it been since they’d had a nice dinner together? 

 

“Are you sure about this?” the woman sitting across from him said. 

 

Gabe smiled at her. “Ambassador Leroy, everything is going according to plan. Relax. We want to look natural.” 

 

She laughed. “According to plan? Not sure I like the sound of that when I’m the bait.”

 

“There is minimal risk,” Gabe assured her. “My best sniper has his eye on us and teams are standing by.” 

 

“I’d feel better if that bear-man was here as well.” 

 

Gabe chuckled. “Reinhardt is a teddy bear. This mission requires more hardened soldiers, and less conspicuous ones.”

 

The ambassador sighed. “I always knew my actions and policies would make enemies, I just never thought it would be this bad.” 

 

“Talon is more than just a few angry people,” Gabe said. “They are a small team of highly trained, highly effective terrorists. You rooting out and freezing their lucrative accounts in your country wasn’t something they could let pass.” 

 

“Only with the help of your Agent Lacroix. She’s been instrumental to the case.” 

 

“Amélie is the best anti-terror agent in the world. She knows Talon well. With your help, she’ll bring them down for good.” 

 

“I hope so.” The ambassador only picked at her food. “I want this to be over.” 

 

“We all do,” Gabe assured. “Please try to relax. If you look nervous, our would-be assassins might be tipped off.” 

 

“Tell me about yourself,” she said. “Everyone knows about the brilliant tactician, the war hero, but what about the man himself?” 

 

“There isn’t much to tell,” Gabe said, hoping the conversation would distract her enough to relax. “I joined the military at a young age, the Crisis happened, and now Overwatch.” 

 

Ambassador Leroy shook her head. “That’s the public face you put on. What about when you are not the Strike-Commander? Hobbies? Pet projects? Are you married?” 

 

“I’m afraid being Strike-Commander is a full time job,” he told her. “I’m sure with a demanding position of your own, you know first hand.” 

 

“Too well,” she admitted, looking at the table beside theirs, with the older couple feeding each other dessert and giggling like teens. “Far too well.” She turned back to Gabe. “I put the job before everything, and it cost me everything. Be careful,  _ Monsieur  _ Reyes. There is a high price for doing the right thing.” 

 

“I know.” He was already paying it. Jack had stopped asking when Gabe would come home. Stopped waiting up for him at night. But if this operation finally got Talon shut down, Gabe would have some breathing room. And the first thing he was going to do was take Jack out for a fancy dinner. 

 

The rest of the meal went by in small talk. Ambassador Leroy finally relaxed, but as the meal came to a close, Gabe began to worry. Talon hadn’t taken the bait again. He couldn’t risk exposing the ambassador anymore than they already had. He stood from the table and pulled out the ambassador’s chair. 

 

“ _ Merci. _ ” She linked arms with him as they headed inside and the exit. “Still nothing?” She whispered. 

 

Gabe shook his head. 

 

“I’ve lost visual,” Torbjörn said as they walked into the restaurant proper. 

 

“Let’s get you home,” Gabe said, steering them toward the exit. 

 

Something nagged at him. If he was trying to assassinate someone, he would know this baiting was a trap. He’d wait till the target was not in the open to be covered by a sniper. And he’d do it quiet, as an unassuming someone who was overlooked easily, someone who could get in close without raising much suspicion until— 

 

A waiter walked toward them, a napkin draped across his hand, not forearm like that rest of the staff. Their course was about to intersect with the ambassador between Gabe and the waiter. 

 

Gabe took the risk. They continued on. The waiter didn’t alter course. It would look like they’d bumped into each other on accident. The napkin shifted and Gabe caught a glint of silver. 

 

He grabbed the ambassador by the waist and pivoted her behind him just as the waiter lunged. The needle slid right by Gabe’s navel. In a flash, he had the assailant by the wrist, arm twisted behind his back, needle tip pressed into his back. 

 

“Make a sound and whatever is in this syringe goes into your liver,” he whispered. 

 

The assassin nodded. 

 

“Walk,” Gabe ordered, pressing the man forward.

 

_ “Monsieur  _ Reyes, what is the meaning of this?” the ambassador demanded. 

 

Gabe ignored her, instead speaking to the com. “I have a suspect restrained. I need an extraction team and an escort.”

 

“ _ Mon Dieu _ . He was going to kill me?” She sounded shocked. 

 

“Ground team inbound,  _ Patron _ ,” Amélie said. “Keep an eye out. Talon agents don’t work alone.” 

 

“Acknowledged. Meet you at the back exit.” He shoved the assassin into the kitchen. “Where’s your partner?” 

 

Someone tackled him. Air whooshed out of Gabe’s lungs when his back hit a prep table. His hands snapped up, catching his assailant’s wrist mid downswing. The tip of the assassin's knife hovered an inch above his heart. 

 

The ambassador screamed. The kitchen staff panicked. Gabe shoved his attacker, sending him flying across the room. The first assassin advanced on the ambassador, needle posed above his head. Gabe flung himself at the man, tackling the assassin as he swung at the ambassador's neck. 

 

They crashed into a wall rack. Dishes rained down on them as they grappled. Gabe grabbed for the syringe. The assassin swung. The needle embedded itself deep into the flesh of Gabe’s bicep. Shit. 

 

“Overwatch strike team!” Amélie’s voice roared above the din. “Show me your hands! Now!” 

 

Gabe yanked out the syringe and twisted the assassin’s arm behind his back, driving his face into the floor. “You are under arrest.” 

  
  
  


He found Amélie as she supervised her prisoners being placed into an armored car. 

 

“Amélie.” 

 

She turned and smiled at him. “The ambassador is safe, no one was hurt, and we took two Talon agents alive. I’ll call this a good day.” 

 

“Amélie,” Gabe said, lowering his voice.

 

Her smile quickly faded. “ _ Oui? _ ” 

 

“Say nothing,” Gabe warned. “We don’t need to start a panic.” 

 

“Gabriel… you’re worrying me.” 

 

He held up the empty syringe. “Call Doctor Winston. I’ve been injected.” 

  
  
  
  


Honestly, he felt fine. Aside from all the monitors he had taped to his chest and arms. And without a shirt, he was freezing in the meat locker that was the medical ward. Doctor Winston was still going over the charts. 

 

“You’re certain you feel fine?” the doctor asked for the umpteenth time. 

 

“If I wasn’t, I would tell you.” Gabe said. He might be a stubborn bastard that could tolerate a lot of pain, but this wasn’t the time. 

 

“It just doesn't make any sense, they were trying to kill the ambassador but nothing is coming up in any of my tox screens. No poisons. No lead. No viruses. Nothing lethal.” 

 

The lab door swished open. Akande walked in. He didn’t look like he had good news. 

 

“I think I know what you were injected with.” 

 

Gabe braced himself. “Let’s hear it.” 

 

“It seems to be a bio-cybernetic virus.” 

 

That didn’t sound promising. “Which means what exactly?” 

 

“It appears to be a colony of nanomachines that graft with tissue. They remain dormant until triggered.” Akande put the evidence box with the syringe on Winston’s desk. 

 

“Why wouldn’t foreign bodies show up on my scans?” Winston asked. 

 

Akande shrugged. “My assumption for now is that they mimic the tissue they attach to, laying in wait. I’ll need to research them more to know for sure.” 

 

“And what triggers them?” Gabe asked. 

 

“It could be anything. But if it were me designing these things, and I wanted to assassinate someone without them knowing, I’d make the trigger something in their everyday life, so they would be sure to….” He paused. “To be blunt, kill themselves.” 

 

Great. Literally anything could set them off. “How do we get them out?” 

 

Akande looked at Winston. “I… I don’t know.” 

 

“What do you mean you don’t know?” Gabe demanded. “You’re the authority on bio-cybernetics.” 

 

“This isn’t something I’ve researched,” Akande defended. “My work has only ever been for the advancement of humankind, not murder.” 

 

Winston put his massive hand on Gabe’s shoulder. “We’ll work through this, Gabriel. Akande and I will make it our top priority. But….”  He fell silent. 

 

“But what?” 

 

Winston lowered his voice. “You may want to make arrangements in the event that the virus is triggered before we can find a cure.” 

 

“Oh.” It hit him then. His medical and cybernetic experts didn’t know what to do. He had a time bomb inside of him. Any breath could be his last. A cold numbness fell over him. 

 

“Perhaps you could retire,” Winston said. “Will less stimuli to possibly trigger anything, it would buy us more time.” 

 

“No,” Gabe said, feeling like he was listening to someone else speak with his voice. “Out of the question.” 

 

Winston stared at him. 

 

Gabe pushed on before the full weight of his situation could crash down on him. “If I retire, Talon will know something is wrong with me. They’ll press their advantage. We can’t show them weakness when we’re so close to bringing them down.” 

 

Winston shook his head. “That’s absurd! Akande, tell him!” 

 

“I have to agree with Gabriel,” he said. “As far as Talon is aware, their attack failed. If they suspect that their assassination struck a much higher value target, they would do everything in their power to ensure the virus triggers.” 

 

“Thank you, both of you.” Gabe stood from the exam table, yanking off the monitor patches and pulling his shirt back on. “If you’ll excuse me.” He had a lot to come to grips with.

 

“I took the liberty of telling Commander Morrison you’d need to speak with him on my way here,” Akande said. “He told me he would if he could find a spare moment.” 

 

Gabe’s heart twinged. He needed Jack right now. Needed an anchor, a rock when his world could break apart at any moment. “Thank you. I’ll be in my office.” 

  
  


Jack didn’t show. 

  
  


Gabe sat in silence long into the night, writing his last will and testament alone.

  
  
  


~

  
  


None of his plan that been easy, but it had paid off. Carefully feeling out the buttons, Gabe typed in the code. The door to the experimental vault slid open and Gabe let himself inside. It would be on the fourth row, last rack, bottom shelf.

 

The storage case was right were the intel said it would be. Gabe flipped the locks and opened the lid. There wasn’t time to waste. He fixed the anchoring piece around his neck, making sure the chin piece sat snugly against his skin despite the beard. The power backing lay flush against his head. The mask clicked into place easily. Gabe tapped the com button on the earpiece to bring it online.  

 

Pain shot through the neural connectors on his temples. He shouted, curling up in a fetal position on the floor as the tech shot electricity into his brain, connecting to his ruined optical nerves.

 

When the pain passed, he uncurled and opened his eyes. The world was back. He could see shapes, colors, depth. Pushing himself up, he grabbed the storage case and left the old Overwatch R and D Watchpoint. 

  
  


~

  
  


“How is Agent Oxton?” Gabe asked Amélie. 

 

“Stable,” she said, handing Gabe a tablet. “Her arm was too far gone to save. Winston amputated.” 

 

Damn it. The second best Blackwatch agent missing a limb. She was too valuable in the field, but that didn’t stop Gabe from wondering if maybe he could talk her into going to college instead. Lena would never stand for retirement. “Tell Winston to prep her for a cyber graft.” 

 

Amélie looked at him sheepishly. “Commander Morrison is listed as her medical proxy. The decision is in his hands.” 

 

Understandable. “Have Winston prep anyways and then ask Jack.” But he already knew Jack would green light it. He knew Lena better than anyone. “And send her a big vase of yellow daisies from me. She won’t admit she likes them, but they’ll make her smile.” 

 

“ _Oui,_ _Patron_.” 

 

Gabe scrolled through his calendar. “I can push the budget meeting. That would give me a day to fly out and see her after the surgery.” 

 

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Amélie said. “Winston was very clear that she’s in a fragile state. He’s only allowing Commander Morrison to see her at the moment, and only because she forced his hand.” She looked up from the tablets. “Have you spoken with him at all?” 

 

“No.”

 

“ _ Gabriel, _ ” Amélie breathed. “Haven’t you told him?” 

 

“We’ve been busy,” Gabe defended. “And with Agent Oxton hurt, the last thing he needs is more medical bad news.” 

 

“But if something happens—”

 

“Nothing is going to happen,” Gabe told her. “I’ve been careful these last few weeks.” He left the budget meeting where it was. “Keep me up to date on Agent Oxton’s condition. That will be all.” 

 

Amélie gave him one of her concerned looks, but left him without voicing her thoughts. He sent a notification that he wanted to see Akande in his office. Several minutes later, the man let himself into the office. 

 

“You should really change your lock,” he said as he took a seat. 

 

Gabe didn’t bother looking up as he closed down the reports he was in the middle of. “And why would I do that?”

 

“You have your condition to think of. If just anyone could walk in here and—”

 

“I’m fine, Akande. Thank you for your concern, but it is misplaced.” It’d been several weeks since the attack and there had been no sign of triggering the virus. “That’s not why I asked you here.”

 

“I am at your disposal, Strike-Commander.” 

 

“Agent Oxton suffered extensive wounds on her latest mission.” 

 

“Poor girl.”

 

“Doctor Winston had to amputate her left arm. I want you to make her a replacement.” 

 

“I have several prototypes she could try and see what works. I think I could adjust them for her.” 

 

“No,” Gabe said, steepling his fingers. “I want you to make her one tailored to her personality and skill set.” 

 

Akande’s eyes widened a fraction. “I see.” 

 

“She’s a sharp shooter, very fast. She’ll need something that could keep up with her and stand up to active duty.” 

 

“Of course, I’ll need some more information.”  

 

“Top of the line materials,” Gabe said. “Spare no expense. She shouldn’t be able to tell it’s a prosthetic.” 

 

“Sparing no expense for a single agent?” Akande asked. “That won’t look good in your budget meeting.” 

 

“I’m paying for it with personal funds,” Gabe told him. “It won’t be an issue.” 

 

“Shall I put a bow on it and have you sign a card?” 

 

Gabe shook his head. “No. She would see it as charity and reject it. Just let her know it was custom made for her. Nothing else.” 

  
  
  
  


A number. That’s all he was, just like back in SEP. But it wasn’t his own number. He wore his love’s number on his back, forever reminding him of what he’d lost. 

 

76 ran off cat naps and scavenged food. His body wasn’t what it used to be. He hissed in pain as he dug the bullet of of his side. Using a splash of whiskey, he cleaned and dressed the wound. Gingerly, 76 rose from his makeshift chair and hobbled to the makeshift desk with its bank of computer screens. He went over all the info for the thousandth time, tracing his finger along the spider web of lines interconnecting people, companies, organizations. Lena’s picture blinked. The numbers under her face had jumped up dramatically. 

 

“Damn it girl, what have you done now?” He clicked on her picture. 

 

A slew of news articles came up. She’d tried to rob a high speed train? Didn’t sound like her. The police report said she’d tried to rob the wealthy passengers. The passengers said she’d saved them from a team of masked men. Now that sounded more like Lena. 

 

Jesse had been keeping a low profile. 76 ran a information check anyways, just to be sure. The boy was still in Japan. It wasn’t much of a world tour when he stayed in one county. Maybe he was having a good time. The kid had missed so much already. 76 hoped he was finally enjoying life. 

 

Another file suddenly started blinking. 76 sneered as he clicked on Akande’s file. Oasis University had made made him Minister of Cybernetics. Talon now had a man with access to that vast pool of knowledge. Unsurprising. Talon had people everywhere it seemed. 

 

Talon wasn’t a newcomer to his conspiracy wall. 76 didn’t bother closing it down even with nothing more new popping up. He had work to do. He pulled up the recent reported on gang violence in Dorado.  LumériCo  had enjoyed a boost in profits every time Los Muertos made a move. 76 had a few questions he wanted to ask them. It would require a more personal touch then they were used to. 

  
  
  


~

  
  
  


Gabe waited on the tarmac as the drop ship landed. The wind perturbed the dozen red roses he carried in the crook of his arm, but they’d still look beautiful even wind blown. Butterflies fluttered in his stomach. He did his best to shut them down. But he was nervous. He and Jack hadn’t been on the best of terms for a while now. But in light of Lena getting hurt, Gabe couldn't stall for a better time any longer. Jack had to know about the virus. They needed to work through this rough patch and decided on what their next step would be. 

 

The loading ramp lowered. Amélie walked down it. Alone. Gabe’s heart sank. He tried not to be disappointed. 

 

“He’s not here,” he said, flatly. 

 

“No,” Amélie said, dragging out the word like she didn’t want to say any more.    
  


“Did Lena like the flowers?” Gabe changed topics. 

 

“She was asleep while I was there,” Amélie told him, still looking like she hoped he wouldn’t ask her more. “She’s taking to the graft and arm well, but it really drained her. Winston says that’s a normal reaction. She should be back to herself in a week or so. Jack is taking good care of her.” 

 

“When is he coming back?” 

 

“Soon.” 

 

Gabe frowned. “Amélie. We’ve worked together well for years now. I would hope you know I don’t like being bullshitted.” 

 

She opened her mouth, then close it a moment. “He… didn’t say when he would return, but more than likely when Lena is transported back in a week.” 

 

Gabe had to pry his jaw apart and force the words out. “What exactly did he say?” 

 

“ _ Patron,  _ he’s under a great deal of stress. He’s not thinking—” 

 

“What. Did. He. Say?” 

 

Amélie deflated. “That he would only return when he was damn good and ready. Not before.” 

 

Gabe flexed his jaw, crushing down a hurricane that was growing in his chest. 

 

“I tried to tell him it was an emergency,” she offered weakly. “That you needed him back, but he told me  Gérard could handle the day to day. I’m so sorry.” 

 

Gabe shrugged. “Nothing to be sorry for. Thank you for trying.” He shoved the roses at Amélie. “They should go to someone who will appreciate them.” He turned on his heel and walked back inside.

 

Amélie followed him. “I’ll have  Gérard speak to him. He’ll talk sense into him.”

 

“That’s won’t be necessary.” Gabe wanted to order her away, but that would look like Jack’s refusal to talk to him hurt. “Commander Morrison has made his stance clear.” 

 

Amélie reached out. Gabe pulled his arm away before she could touch him. 

 

“That will be all, Agent Lacroix.”

 

“Of course, Sir. If you need to talk—” 

 

“I will be fine. Thank you.” He strode away, leaving her behind. 

 

Plenty of ideas about how to work out his frustrations crossed his mind. But they required copious amounts of ammo and explosives. He didn’t want to have to explain himself. So, he went to his office. 

 

“ Minerva, lock the door,” he said, going over to his windows. 

 

“Of course, Sir,” the AI said. 

 

“And change the locks,” he added. “No one is allowed in without my express consent.” 

 

“Very well. I have changed your security settings. May I ask why the sudden change?”

 

“No.” He put his hands behind his back, staring out the window at nothing. “Do not disturb me unless I ask for you.”

 

“Very well.”

 

The office was deathly silent. He’d cleared his schedule far this, but now…. Out of nowhere, a single tear trailed down his cheek. He wiped hit away with his palm. He was being ridiculous. This was life. People fell out of love, moved on. He’d had break ups before. Why was this one any different?

 

He leaned against the window. This was for the best. He was living off borrowed time as it was. How could he ask Jack to deal with this? Better they end things and let Jack distance himself. Who would want to marry someone who could die at any moment? It wasn’t fair to them. 

 

Like a dam bursting, all his fears and pain rushed forward. He put his face in his hands. Jack wouldn’t even speak to him. He’d have to face things alone. He didn’t want to die. It scared the shit out of him. Not death itself, but being alone. A single sob tore its way out of his throat. It quickly turned into a coughing fit. His eyes teared up. It didn’t stop. 

 

Pain itched at his chest as his lungs constricted. It radiated outward. He could barely get a single breath in. Blood splattered onto the window. 

 

Gabe put a hand over his mouth and pulled it away. It was covered in blood. He couldn’t even swear. More coughs racked him. Blood clogged his windpipe. He staggered away from the window, one hand covering his mouth, the other gripping the wall to try and keep him upright. 

 

“Minerva,” he managed to gasp before breaking back down into a coughing fit.

 

“Sir, your heart rate is far out of normal parameters and your  adrenaline is spiking.” 

 

Gabe collapsed onto his desk. Blood splashed across the pristine surface, covering the framed photo of him, Jack, and Ana. 

 

“Call—” Blood blocked his throat and filled his mouth. He gagged. None of his training had prepared him for drowning in his own blood. His heart pounded. “Call—” 

 

His knees gave out. He crumpled, hardly able to wheeze enough air into his lungs to stay conscious. He groped for the communicator, bloody fingers smearing the touchscreen on his desk. “Call… Jack….”

 

“Calling Commander Morrison,” Minerva said, her voice sounded far away. “Call connecting.” 

 

Gabe listened. It rang. And rang. And rang. Slowly, his eyes closed. A new wave of blood cut off what little air he had. 

 

_ I should have got him sunflowers not roses…. He loves sunflowers. _

  
  


~

  
  


76 looked at the girl on the ground. She stared up at him, eyes wide. There was fear in them, but an unsure kind. Like she felt he could be trusted, but was waiting to see if that trust was misplaced. Her question still bounced around his head. 

 

_ You saved me. Why? _

That was the question, wasn’t it? He’d had the punks down, caught red handed trafficking weapons. He could have put an end to them, struck a blow and put fear in the the hearts of every dirty dealer in Mexico. But he’d saved the girl. And all he had to show for it was a wound in his side and the haunting echo of the explosion rattling loose old memories. 

 

“Old habits die hard, I guess.” It’d been nearly seven years since he’d saved anyone. He would have thought himself broken of that sentiment. He tossed her purse back to her. “Run home, kid. It’s not safe out here.”

 

He turned and picked his guns up off the ground. So much for the element of surprise. Word would spread fast. 76 had a lot of ground to make up in a short amount of time if he wanted to have any hope of doing what he came here to do. The wound in his side wasn’t doing him any favors. And he wasn’t as young as he used to be. 

 

“You’re one of those heroes, aren't you?” 

 

The voice stopped him in his tracks. Hero? Him? Jesse’s lost expression as he stood over a casket. The fury in Lena’s eyes.  Amélie crying by a window. The way Jack’s smile vanished the moment 76 walked into a room. No. Maybe once, a long, long time ago. “Not anymore.” 

  
  
  


From the rooftop across the street, 76 watched the girl return home, arms loaded with a bag of flour nearly as big as she was. Excitedly, she told her mother something amazing had happened. She closed the door, safe at home. 

 

76 watched a moment more, before walking away. But the thoughts she’d inadvertently unleashed still hounded him. He’d nearly let her die. When had he become comfortable with trading a civilian’s life for a small advancement of the mission? It’s why he’d taken the damn promotion all those years ago: to protect people. To keep them from turning into collateral damage. 

 

What would Jack have said if he knew about this? He’d be disgusted. 

 

_ You’re more than just a soldier, _ 76 could practically hear the voice he missed so much.  _ You’re a good man, so be one. _

 

Maybe he had been once. But not anymore. 

  
  


~

  
  


Beeping woke him. Gabe groaned. A whole fleet of trucks must have run him over. Everything hurt. His chest ached, like someone had used him like a punching bag. He cracked his eyes open. The beeping didn’t stop. His watery vision slowly focused. White ceiling, chemically sterile smell. The medical ward. Why the hell was he— He put a hand to his face. The oxygen mask pinched the bridge of his nose. 

 

“Fuckin’ thing,” he mumbled, pulling it off of him. 

 

The door swished open. “You’re awake.” Winston came over and unclipped the mask. “How do you feel?” 

 

“Like death warmed over.” 

 

“You look like it.” 

 

“Thanks, Doc.” Just that short conversation wore him out. “What the hell happened?” 

 

Winston took a seat on the floor beside the bed and pushed up his glasses. “The virus triggered.” 

 

Gabe rubbed his face as his last foggy memories returned. “Why am I not dead then?” Maybe if he could weather the storm once, he could do it again and beat it. 

 

“Whatever the Soldier Enhancement Program did to your immune system seems to have saved you.” 

 

The look Winston leveled at him make whatever hope Gabe had about beating the virus disappear. 

 

“Why did you lock your door and silence Minerva? Those extra seconds it took to get to you might have cost you your life.” 

 

“Akande thought it was better for me not to be surprised.”

 

Gabe had no idea gorillas could purse their lips, but Winston somehow managed to do it, and still retain his severe expression. “Gabriel, I would prefer if you did not trust medical issues to Akande.”

 

“He’s trying his best with the situation as much as he can,” Gabe said. 

 

“Is he?” Winston asked. “He’s had this problem for months now, and we are no closer to finding a cure.” 

 

“It’s difficult work.” 

 

“I know.” Winston took off his glasses. “I just don’t like the feeling I get from him. Call it animal instinct, but something is off.”

 

Gabe arched an eyebrow. “How so?” 

 

“I don’t know.” 

 

“Doctor Winston, Akande has been nothing but helpful since being hired. He has helped me personally several times and gone out of his way to help others. Unless you have some kind of proof that he’s withholding vital information, I would keep those thoughts to yourself.” 

 

Winston looked abashed for a moment. He put his glasses back on. “Forgive me. I spoke out of line. Perhaps the stress is getting to me.” He put a massive hand over Gabe’s. “Please don’t do that again. You had us all scared.” 

 

Us all? Gabe glanced around the room. No cards or flowers. No sign anyone had been in here with him. There was no sign Jack had been here. 

 

Hurt broke his heart. Jack wasn’t here. Hadn’t been here. His lungs contracted. He coughed into his free hand. Blood dotted his palm. 

 

Winston stood. “Gabriel, you need to calm yourself. Emotional stress is the trigger. Whatever is distressing you, tell me so I can stop it.” 

 

Gabe tried to push back the hurt, but the more he tried, the more he thought about how Jack must have ignored his emergency call. After that, Winston or his staff would have been required to notify Gabe’s medical contact: Jack. Had he ignored that call too? Or did he just not care when they told him what was happening?

 

His lungs burned. He coughed harder, blood dribbling down onto the white bedsheets. Winston said something Gabe couldn’t hear over the sound of himself dying. 

 

Jack hadn’t come. He hadn't seen Gabe even though he’d been seconds from death. The love of his life didn’t love him back anymore. Numbness crept through his systems. He didn’t fight it. Passively, he let it carry him away into nothingness. 

 

He hoped he never had wake again. 

  
  
  


Shaking woke him. The building was falling apart. He had to get Jack! He had to get out of here! Hands grabbed him. They were taking him! No! He wouldn’t let them. His fist connected with something that snapped. There were screams. The world came into focus as the visor booted up. 

 

There was a man on the ground, holding his shattered face. Another sprinted away, yelling. Shit, they’d probably thought he was injured and were trying to help. They shouldn’t have touched him. He grabbed his pack and ran in the opposite direction. He could have killed them and never noticed. 

 

He shouldn’t be touched ever again.

  
  


~

  
  


It was late. Gabe looked up from his paperwork as the knock came again. Why was someone bothering him now? He went back to the budget forecast. “Come in.” 

 

The door unlocked and Akande entered. “Good to see you took my advice about the lock.”

 

“I’m a busy man. I can’t have anyone accessing my office whenever they please.” But it was more to lock himself away than anything. 

 

“Of course.” Akande came over and set a tray down. 

 

Gabe gave it a glance. Plate of food. Mug of coffee. A new bottle of pills. 

 

“Winston said to tell you these ones should help lessen the side effects.” 

 

“Thanks.” Gabe deadpanned, going back to work. 

 

Akande leaned against the desk. “You should really take a break.” 

 

“No need.” 

 

“Gabriel, I say this as your friend, but I think you’ve taken restraining your emotions too far.” 

 

Gabe shrugged and pointed at the bottle of pills. “Blame them.” He wasn’t going to lie, the emotional deadening the pills induced in him was probably the only reason he was still functioning. He and Jack had gone months without speaking. When they happened to share their room, the sex was cold and to the point, little more. 

 

Jack had moved out only a few weeks ago. Blackwatch barracks, the farthest away he could get from their old room without going off base. Gabe vividly remembered the look of horror on Winston’s face when the brand new bottle of pills was empty in two days. He’d thrown around words like addiction and crutch. Gabe was too numb to care. 

 

“Gabriel?” Akande’s voice brought him back. 

 

He glanced at the other. “Yes?”

 

“Feeling nothing at all isn’t healthy.” He reached out and put a hand over Gabe’s. “You’re going through a rough time right now, but shutting down—medically enabled or otherwise—isn’t the way to cope. When was the last time you smiled?”

 

Gabe kept writing. “It’s not that I don’t feel anything. I feel  _ everything _ , but it’s… behind a wall. Distant.” He removed his hand from Akande’s. “It’s keeping me alive. That’s all that matters.” 

 

“Please take the new pills,” Akande said. “They counteract the virus when it triggers. You won’t have that wall anymore.” 

 

Without the wall to hold it back, heartache would kill him. “The ones I have now work fine.” 

 

“You’re an incredible man. He doesn’t deserve you.” 

 

Gabe’s pen stopped mid sentence, hanging above the tablet. “Excuse me, Doctor Ogundimu?” 

 

Akande sighed. “I can’t be silent anymore. Jack is killing you, Gabriel.” 

 

Anger and resentment raged behind the wall. Gabe knew he should be furious but he just… didn’t care. They were distant emotions, belonging to someone else even though he knew they were his. Gabe set his pen down. “Jack and I are grown adults. Our paths have simply diverged. It’s what happens in life.” 

 

“As a friend, it hurts me to see you like this. You’ve done everything for him. How many times have you laid your career on the line when his missions went wrong? No one has as much of your support as he does. And he’s done nothing in return but worsen your condition.” 

 

A flood of emotions tried to burst through the wall, but none of them succeeded. “Loyalty, Akande. Jack and I are no longer friends, but we served together, bled together. No matter our personal lives, Jack will always have my support.” 

 

“Even if he doesn’t show you the same loyalty?”

 

Gabe only stared at him. 

 

Akande looked away. “Forget I said anything. It’s not my place.” 

 

Gabe clasped his hands together. “You’ve already said it. You may as well continue.” 

 

“I don’t want you to be blindsided. My family hosted a dinner for Secretary-General Petras a few days ago. “He mentioned to me, perhaps thinking to sway me to his side, that there might be a shake up coming for Overwatch.” 

 

Gabe blinked, taking the in the words, but finding trying to process them… difficult. 

 

“He mentioned a change of direction… with leadership. They want someone more personable, agreeable—” 

 

“Controllable,”  Gabe finished. “And?” 

 

Akande gave Gabe a pitying look. “The next most senior leader is a super soldier, with a record of obedience to the chain of command. For all intents and purposes, he is you, but… nicer.” 

 

“You think Jack wants the job.”

 

“I just find his timing curious. As the council starts to lose favor with you, Jack suddenly cuts all ties with you, becomes distant, and starts keeping secrets?”

 

“Thank you for making me aware of this. But you don't need to worry.” If Jack wanted the job, all he had to do was have the common decency to tell Gabe to his face. “We are separated. I’m sure his actions are just reflecting his emotional state.” 

 

“So the flowers don’t upset you?” 

 

Gabe shrugged. “What flowers?” 

 

“I shouldn’t tell you.” 

 

“And yet you’ve said it anyways.” 

 

“I don’t want to be the reason you have another attack.” 

 

“Spit it out or get out.” 

 

Akande shook his head. “Someone has been leaving sunflowers for Jack. At first, we all thought it was you. But Fareeha mentioned seeing Jack thanking  Gérard for them… with a kiss.” 

 

Hurt bled into the wall in his head. Jack… seeing  Gérard ? Behind  Amélie's back? Something so low didn’t sound like either of them.

 

“ Gérard and Amelie have have strained to say the least. I just… I wanted you to be prepared if they take things further.” 

 

Gabe nodded. “He sees  Gérard more in a day than we have in months. It’s only natural he’d seek a relationship with someone he can actually be with.” Isn’t that how they fell in love in the first place? Spending untold hours together, braving missions together. He was Jack’s CO back then, why couldn't Jack fall in love with his SIC now? Gabe shrugged. “I would thank you to keep that information to yourself. If it is true, Am é lie doesn’t deserve to find out like this.” 

 

“You don’t deserve it either.” 

 

“Jack doesn’t care, why should I?” 

“You don’t deserve what’s happening to you. You’re a good man. You deserve someone who knows how lucky they are to have someone as loyal as you.” Akande leaned in. 

 

Gabe sat unmoving as the man pressed their lips together. How long had it been since he’d been kissed? He racked his memory. Nearly a year. A year without a kiss. It felt nice, he guessed. But it was nothing like Jack’s. Gabe pulled away. 

 

“You are out of line, Doctor Ogundimu.” 

 

“Gabriel—” 

 

Gabe held up a hand. “I appreciate your concern for my welfare. However, your fraternization is unwelcome. I will overlook this instance, but do it again and there will be repercussions.” 

 

“I could make you happy,” Akande said. “Gabriel please, let me try to make you smile again.” 

 

“You are dismissed,” Gabe said, going back to his paperwork. “Goodnight.” 

 

Akande stood. He started down at Gabe for a moment. “He’ll be the death of you, and he won’t care.” With that, he left the office, door locking behind him.

 

Gabe kept writing. If he stopped, if he let his mind wander—  He opened a drawer in his desk and took out a nearly empty bottle. He shook out three pills and swallowed them. Twisting the cap back on, he put them away. He grabbed the new bottle and put it in the desk, beside the small velvet box. 

 

He hesitated. With a mind of their own, his fingers trailed over the box and picked it up. The plain silver ring sat innocently on a velvet pillow.  _ Mi alma. _ His soul. Without Jack, he had no soul. He snapped the box closed and shoved it back into its drawer. 

 

There was still a budget to work out, a schedule to adjust, and there was always another council meeting to prepare for. The tears that dropped onto the tablet startled him. He reached up and brushed them away. 

 

There was nothing he could do. He’d reached out, Jack had ignored him. They were over. Jack was with someone else. Gabe just had to accept it. He should have let Akande kiss him… but he couldn’t. More tears splattered on the tablet, yet Gabe felt nothing. He knew he should. He should be ashamed, angry,  _ something _ . The tears just kept falling. Gabe set the tablet aside and put his face in his hands. 

 

He couldn’t convince himself it wasn’t cheating. He was still in love. The kiss seemed like a betrayal. There was a confusing jumble of thoughts bouncing around the wall. He felt the shame, the regret, but not like he should. They were far away, and that only made him think he should feel worse. He’d cheated on the love of his life. He coughed and covered his mouth. Blood dotted his palm when he pulled his hand away. 

 

Akande was right. Jack was going to be the death of him. 

  
  


~

  
  


Reinhardt offered him a hand. 76 took it and got to his feet. 

 

“You’re supposed to be dead.” 

 

“So are you, my friend. Yet, here we both are.” 

 

76 wasn’t sure how to feel about this turn of events. Was he mad his old friend faked his death? Or was he more relieved than anything? “Guess we both got bored of being dead.” 

 

“Come, I have a place to lay low and patch you up.” 

 

76 wanted to argue. They should press their advantage, but his broken ribs protested. The deep slashes in his side and arms needed to be stitched up. “Getting too old for this,” he muttered, following Reinhard. 

 

“Give it ten more years and you’ll see how I feel.” 

 

Ten more years? 76 wasn’t sure he had ten more months left. But, he’d thought that about a lot of points in his life, it was just his curse to keep living. 

 

Reinhardt lead him away from the castle into the forest. The Black Forest, if 76 remembered from the maps. Reinhardt had a base set up in a small village on a hill. It was just as devastated as Eichenwalde. Several bastion units littered the ground, and in the distance, 76 recognized the transport pods of the huge Titans. Smashed up houses, a garrison torn apart, yet still, a water wheel turned, providing power. The whole place was silent, save for the drip of water and the occasional creak of wood. It was like a cemetery without headstones. What better place for two old ghosts to haunt? 

 

Their hideout was the remains of what might have been a cozy living room of a minor noble. Very minor. 

 

“Take the armchair, Gabriel.” 

 

There was a name he hadn’t heard in a long time. 76 took off the jacket and draped it over the back of the chair. The compression shirt was trickier to get off. Between the broken ribs and the stinging cuts, he considered cutting it off. He ignored the pain and pulled the shirt over his head. Reinhardt returned with a bowl of warm water and a sewing kit. 76 waited patiently through the clean up and stitches. For his size and calloused hands, Reinhardt’s touch was feather-light. 

 

“I’ve never heard of anyone confronting Reaper and living to tell the tale,” Reinhardt said, stitching closed a line of slashes in Gabe’s bicep. 

 

76 grunted. “Only reason I’m not dead is because of you. Thanks.” 

 

“I think it was more than just me,” Reinhardt cleaned a trio of slashes and wrapped them with a layer of gauze. “There was something familiar about him.” 

 

“He knew me,” 76 said, standing from the chair. “Knew who I used to be, how I fought.” He’d been careful not to reveal who he was, so how did some Halloween reject know who was under the mask?

 

Reinhardt stood as well. “Gabriel… it was Jack.” 

 

76 balled his hands into fists. “That’s impossible.” 

 

Reinhardt set aside his tools and sighed. “I saw his face… what’s left of it.” 

 

“You’re mistaken.” 

 

“I know what my friends look like, Gabriel. I know it must be hard to take in, but it was him.” 

 

“It’s not!” 76 roared. 

 

Reinhardt fell silent. 

 

76 went to the broken window, resting his hands on the dusty sill. “It can’t be.” 

 

“Why can’t it be?” Reinhardt asked. 

 

76 hung his head. “I held him, Rein. Held him after the building collapsed on us. He was dead. And if he wasn’t, if he was alive then…  that means I failed him again. I left him to die down there when he needed me the most. I let someone take him and turn him into that thing—” He put his fist through the glass. 

 

Reinhardt said nothing as 76 pulled his hand back. 

 

“Jack would  _ never _ work with Talon. Whoever that is, it’s not him. Maybe it’s using his face, maybe whatever the hell’s been done to it—” 

 

“Maybe Talon did to Jack what they did to Gérard,” Reinhardt said softly. 

 

“Jack is dead,” 76 snarled. “I killed him myself. And nothing will change that.” 

 

Reinhardt closed his eyes and hung his head. “If you say so, my friend.” 

  
  
  


~

 

It was all too much. The old pills had run out and Winston had refused to give him anything but the new ones. The wall keeping him together was gone. Overwatch secrets had been leaked. The emergency meeting of the council had left him with too many emotions to cope. 

 

“This is unacceptable, Strike-Commander,” Petras’ voice still rang in his head. “It’s clear my trust in you was misplaced. Your Blackwatch head allowed his man to defect and leak classified secrets to the world.” 

 

“I think it’s time we put you and your Commander Morrison under the microscope,” the Prime Minister had said, unable to keep the gleeful smile off his face. “See what else you’re hiding.” 

 

What’s-her-face just scowled. “Your posturing and threats can wait for later, Nigel. Strike-Commander, I warned you what would happen if your defector wasn’t silenced quickly. If he’s not dead in twenty four hours, you and Commander Morrison should expect to spend the rest of your lives in a prison cell.” 

 

He could feel the virus eating away at his lungs despite the pills. Emotional stress. Talon couldn’t have picked a better trigger even if they had been trying to kill him. Jack breaking up with him, Talon taking  Gérard , Reinhardt’s death, and now this? Gabe didn’t think he’d last twenty four hours for prison to be a viable option for the council. But maybe he could take some of the heat off Jack. He could do one last thing for him. If he removed Jack from the case, all the blame would fall on him. Maybe the council would be too busy tearing him apart to bother with Jack. 

 

As if on cue, Jack walked into the office. “You wanted to see me, Sir.”

 

Gabe braced himself.

  
  
  


He woke to smoke and fire. Blood poured down his face. His ears rang.  _ I’ll see you in hell, Reyes. _ But Gabe was already in hell. He’d been wrong, so wrong. Jack hadn’t been dating Gérard. Jack still wore his ring… and Gabe had… He had…. 

 

“Jack!” he coughed. Blood leaked over his lips. Shock had to be the only thing keeping him alive. How could he have doubted Jack? How could he think Jack loved someone else? He pushed himself up from the ground. He screamed. 

 

His leg was pinned under a slab of concrete. His face burned. When he put a hand to it, it came away drenched in blood. Shit, this was bad. He managed to wiggle his leg free. It didn’t feel broken, but he didn’t want to test it. He crawled through the rubble. 

 

“Jack!” They had to get out of here. “Jack!” He had to apologize, make things right. 

 

Something creaked above him. He looked up. An avalanche of broken building hung above him, held back by a few well placed pillars. It wouldn’t hold forever.  

 

“Jack! We have to get out of here! I know you’re mad at me, be as pissed as you want, but we have to—” 

 

The floor under him gave way. He fell again, slamming down onto the next floor. 

 

“Fuck!” 

 

It was darker down here. Smoke hung thick in the blistering hot air. Gabe pushed himself up, putting all the weight on his good leg. He coughed. Blood covered his hand. Shit. If he didn’t get out of here soon, the virus would kill him before the building could. 

 

“Jack, please! Answer me!” He staggered forward, lungs contranting. 

 

Through the smoke, he saw a shape laying beside a massive boulder of concrete. 

 

“Jack!”

 

Unmindful of his leg, Gabe ran for him. Jack didn’t respond. The joy of finding him quickly turned to ash. 

 

“Jack!” Gabe flung himself to the floor at Jack’s side. 

 

Jack’s face was a bloody mess of torn flesh and broken bone. The once sparkling blue eyes were clouded over and distant, unseeing. Gabe’s hands trembled as he touched Jack’s face. 

 

“No, no, please. Jack….” 

 

There was no response. 

 

“No!” Gabe tore at the rocks pinning Jack’s arm. “No, no, no, no!” 

 

It couldn’t be right. This wasn’t how it ended. Jack was going to wake up. He was going to be angry. Gabe was going to apologize. If Jack wanted to hate him for the rest of his life, Gabe would be fine with that. He deserved it. The rocks pinning Jack’s arm finally budged. Gabe rolled them off of him and cradled Jack in his arms. 

 

“Jack, please, wake up.” Tears splattered onto the broken face. 

 

There was no movement. Jack lay still in Gabe’s arms. 

 

“No!” Gabe screamed, clutching Jack to his chest. 

 

This wasn’t right! Gabe tucked his face against Jack’s neck. “Come back,” he sobbed. “Jack, you can’t leave. It should’ve been me. Please, come back. Come back!”

 

There was no miraculous breath of life. No demon showed up to make a deal. 

 

“I’m sorry, Jack,” Gabe sobbed, rocking them back and forth. “I’m so sorry. Everything's my fault.  It’s all my fault.”

 

The crackle of flames intensified as the fires grew. Blood dripping onto the rubble as the smoke thickened, filling the small space. This was how their story ended. An odd calm descended over Gabe. He hugged Jack close, kissing the bloody lump that used to be his ear. 

 

“ Wait for me,  _ cielo _ . I’ll be with you soon. Hold on, I’m coming.”

 

Something metal twisted above them. Gabe looked up and his vision exploded in white.

  
  
  


He woke to a nightmare. Why? Why did he wake up? Everything was dark. His skin burned. His arms were empty. Where was Jack? 

 

“Jack,” His voice broke. He groped around himself. No Jack, only unfeeling rock. 

 

“Found something,” said a voice Gabe didn’t recognize. 

 

Who the hell was that? 

 

There was a low whistle. “Not much of it left.” 

 

“Turn it over.” 

 

“Shit! That’s Morrison. Well… what’s left of him anyway.” 

 

Jack? They had Jack? He tried to move, but everything felt broken and on fire. “Jack,” he whispered. 

 

The ground groaned, shifting slightly under him. 

 

“Fuck, this place is falling apart. We need to get out of here.” 

 

“Take Morrison.” 

 

They couldn't have him! “No.” His voice barely made it past his lips. 

 

“O'Deorain wants Reyes.” 

 

“O'Deorain can get her own ass down here and die looking for him. One is better than none. Grab him and lets get out.” 

 

No! Gabe struggled to try and get up. No! Jack was his! “Stop,” he tried to yell, but it came out as a whisper. 

 

The voices grew fainter. Gabe rolled onto his stomach, pushing himself up to his hands and knees. He had to go after them, he had to get Jack back. Jack deserved to be put to rest. 

 

“Jack!” He yelled. “Come back!”

 

Something grabbed his arms. Gabe screamed, fighting against the force gripping him. He roared, flinging himself from side to side. The force didn’t let go. It tightened, trying to pin him down. 

 

“Let go of me!” Gabe screamed. “I won’t let you take him! I won’t!”

 

“Gabe! Gabe, calm down!”

 

The assassins knew his name! They’d found him! He rolled, dragging the attacker down with him. His hold of the assailant evaporated like smoke sliding between his fingers. Just like Jack had. The cloudy blue eyes stared up at him from the broken face. His fault. It was all his fault. 

 

Gabe’s lungs seized. His windpipe filled with fluid. He expelled it in a familiar, choking coughing fit. Wetness splashed against the floor. He didn’t need the visor to know it was a lot of blood. 

 

“Oh my God!” 

 

Gabe threw a wild punch where the voice had come from. “Get away from him!” Gabe snarled. He vomited more blood onto the floor. They wouldn’t take Jack from him! “You won’t take him!” 

 

“Gabriel.” 

 

The voice was softer now. He lunged for it. 

 

“Gabriel, listen to me.” 

 

The voice sounded familiar. Gabe stopped his search for the assassin, listening. 

 

“You’re safe. No one is coming to take you away. There’s something wrong, you’re hurt.” 

 

When he realized who the voice belonged to, Gabe nearly crumpled to the floor. The last few weeks supplanted the nightmare. Jack was alive. Fear quickly overturned the relief. Jack was alive and he’d seen the blood. He knew.

 

“It’s nothing.” He pushed himself up. His memory of their safe house was hazy at best. He groped for the wall for a moment before finding it. “Stay away.” He hauled himself to the bathroom and sagged against the sink. 

 

His lungs contracted again. He coughed. Blood splattered against the porcelain. Fuck. He turned on the water to cover the noise. Not that Jack hadn’t already seen what was happening. 

 

He felt Jack’s gaze on his back. It might be time to come clean. But he wasn’t going to start. He splashed water on his face, rinsed his mouth out. All things considered, it was a mild attack. After that dream he should be coughing up bits of his lungs. 

 

“How long?” Jack asked from the doorway. 

 

Gabe dried his face with his shirt. “A while.” 

 

“How long?” Jack repeated. 

 

Gabe turned off the water. He put his hands on the sink to help steady himself. “Before Lena lost her arm.” 

 

Jack was silent for a worrying amount of time. 

 

“May I come in?” he finally asked. 

 

Gabe shivered. He was torn between yes and no and couldn’t decided which one would be less painful. Jack decided for him. Gabe could feel the space shrink with the addition of another body into the cramped space. 

 

“May I touch your hand?” Jack asked. 

 

Gabe took a deep breath to steady himself and test his lungs. Abused, battered, but still working. He nodded. 

 

Cold fingers brushed against the back of his left hand. Even knowing it was coming, Gabe flinched. 

 

“Shh, it’s alright,” Jack said. 

 

Gabe forced himself to relax. Jack put his hand over Gabe’s, turned it palm up and put a cloth in it. Gabe nodded his thanks and cleaned his mouth. 

 

“What happened?” Jack asked. 

 

The wounds Gabe thought had long scabbed over proved to be just as fresh as the day they were inflicted. The disappointment, the hurt, the fear. It all came back. His first instinct was to hold it back, shut it down. Keep his distance.

 

“Ambassador Renee Leroy was the target of a Talon assassin.” The words flowed from him like a river finally freed of a dam. “They missed her and got me instead. Injected me with a bio-cybernetic virus.” 

 

“Gabe….” Jack’s voice had a note of pity in it Gabe didn’t like. 

 

“Don’t,” he snapped. “I was fine.” 

 

“Clearly not.” 

 

Fucking Jack, calling him out on his lies, even the ones he told himself. “Winston and Akande figured out it was a nanomachine colony that grafted to the tissue of my lungs. When triggered, they destroy me from the inside.” He waved to the sink to indicate the blood.

 

“And what triggers them?”

 

“Acute emotional stress,” Gabe parroted Winston’s diagnosis. “Too much happiness, sadness, or anger and then—” He drug his thumb across his throat. “Gave me a few weeks at first.” He sighed and looked in the mirror. “When they went off the first time… doesn’t matter. What matters is SEP’s healing factor keeps me alive so long as I carefully control my emotions.” 

 

“You’ve been living with these things inside of you for  _ decades _ ?” Jack asked, sounding flabbergasted. “How could you not tell me?” 

 

Gabe leaned forward, pressing his scorching forehead to the cool glass of the mirror. “I was going to, but you never showed up. It was after Jesse, you weren’t talking to me or taking my calls. I thought….” 

 

Jack tentatively put a hand over one of Gabe’s. “I would have come if I knew.”

 

“Akande told you it was an emergency,” Gabe whispered. “But you didn’t come.” 

 

“He and I never interacted much,” Jack said, his tone turning icy. “But never once did we speak about any medical emergency. You have to believe me.” 

 

“I do.” Gabe snorted. “Just proves he was Talon long before I ever suspected.” 

 

“Gabe, I’m so sorry.” 

 

“Don’t be. It was my fault.” He shuttered again. “After the first attack I shut down. I shouldn’t have. I should have told you how much you hurt me.” He laughed and rubbed his face. “But it wasn’t your fault. You had every right to ignore my call.” 

 

“What call?” Jack demanded. 

 

Shit. They were really going to do this? He needed more pills if they were going to work through all their shit tonight. “I did tell you this condition is caused by acute emotional stress, right?” 

 

“We can do this when you're feeling better.” 

 

“That’s the thing, I’m never going to get better.” 

 

“Gabe….” 

 

“Winston managed to make something to slow them down, but it only works for so long.” 

 

Jack put his arm over Gabe’s shoulders. “I’m sorry.”

 

“Stop saying that.” Gabe brushed off the comforting arm. Jack should be blaming Gabe. Everything he’d said when they fought was true. Everything Jack accused him of when Gabe confronted him was true. Jack should still be furious. Why wasn’t he? “None of it was your fault, so stop apologizing.”

 

He left the bathroom, feeling his way along the wall back out to the mattress on the floor that served as a bed. He felt for his bag, found it, and fished out the bottle of pills. Shaking a pair out, he dry swallowed them. He’d been taking a lot in the last few weeks. He was going to have to see if Winston had anymore. 

 

The telltale ripple of smoke alerted him that Jack had done his wraith thing. Probably left to let Gabe wallow in his stupidity. He put his face in his hands. Learn from his mistakes? He was an idiot. He was doing the same thing as he always had, push Jack away because he didn’t know how not to. The mattress dipped. Gabe lifted his head. 

 

“Is that what you think?” Jack asked. “That none of it was my fault?” 

 

“Of course it wasn’t,” Gabe said, softly. “It was me who stuck you in Blackwatch. I didn’t listen when you told me it was a bad idea. Fuck, I let a Talon mole put a wedge between us and did nothing to fix it. You’re the way you are because of me.” He looked away. “You should have taken my soul and killed me. I deserve it.” 

 

Jack shifted closer, until their hips and knees touched. Gabe stubbornly refused to look at him. 

 

“You know, I spent nearly eight years thinking the same thing.” Jack’s hand rested lightly on Gabe’s thigh. “Over and over, I told myself it was your fault. Everything was your fault.” 

 

Good. Jack did understand. “It was.” 

 

“No, Gabe.” The hand squeezed him. “It was both our faults.” 

 

Slowly, Gabe turned to look at the love of his life. Jack was just another smear of gray without the visor. But Gabe could still make out the strong silhouette.

 

“Don’t give me that look. I’ve been looking back over the years these last weeks, and I realize, I’d been lying to myself.”

 

“But I—” 

 

Jack placed a finger on Gabe’s scared lips. “Listen.” 

 

Gabe nodded. 

 

“When I look back, all I see is me trying too hard to be a good soldier, and not enough of me trying to be a good partner. Something was off with you, and I didn’t press to find out what it was. I took it personally and let things fester instead of being frank with you. You hurt me, and I stayed silent. And it sounds like you did the same when I hurt you. That was no way to be in a relationship.” 

 

The cool finger left Gabe’s lips as Jack’s hands appeared on his cheeks. 

 

“We were both wrong. We made mistakes that hurt the both of us. This blame isn’t only yours to shoulder. It’s mine too.” 

 

“I was supposed to protect you,” Gabe whispered. “I failed.” 

 

“And I was supposed to watch your back, but I didn’t.” Jack rubbed his thumbs against Gabe’s cheeks. “I’ve had a lot of time to think, and Gabe, we have to forgive ourselves before we can move on.”

 

Gabe put his hands on Jack’s wrists. “I don’t deserve forgiveness. Least of all from you. Look what I did to you. How could you ever forgive me?” 

 

Jack’s cold lips pressed against Gabe’s in a soft kiss. “Forgiveness is part of love. We all make mistakes. We have to learn to forgive ourselves, and each other, for them.” 

 

“Fuck,” Gabe whispered. He coughed, blood leaking over his lips. “Damn it.” Not now!

 

“Do you trust me?” Jack asked. 

 

“More than anyone.” Even after all this time, all this heartache. Jack had held Gabe’s soul in his hands and instead of crushing it, returned it, unharmed. 

 

“Trust me.” Jack pressed his lips to Gabe’s again. 

 

Gabe did his best to suppress another cough. Jack tongue licked against Gabe’s teeth, asking for permission. Why the hell Jack wanted to kiss him when he was coughing up blood, Gabe didn’t know. But he trusted him. He opened his mouth. Jack’s tongue gently pinned down Gabe’s. 

 

Something filled Gabe’s mouth. He tried to pull away, but Jack’s hands held him in place. Gabe closed his eyes as vapor trickled down his throat. Was that the smoke Jack turned into? What the hell? 

 

Jack shifted forward, knees straddling Gabe’s hips as he deepened the kiss. More smoke slid down Gabe’s throat into his lungs. His heart pounded. He grabbed Jack’s body armor as his lungs burned for air. Jack didn’t let him go. The soft fingers curled, digging into Gabe’s flesh, holding him still. 

 

The smoke filled Gabe’s lungs, chasing out what was left of his oxygen. He double tapped Jack’s chest.  _ Running out of air _ . Jack didn’t stop. A burning sensation rippled up from Gabe’s core. His lungs spasmed, forcing blood and smoke up his throat. Coughing, Gabe fought the drowning feeling. His shotty vision grew dark and his arms heavy. Desperately, he tapped Jack’s chest again. 

 

He didn’t stop. Gabe’s eyelids fluttered as veins of black appeared in the shapeless gray. His hands slid down Jack’s chest as a strange, sinking feeling dragged him down. It was oddly peaceful. It was what he’d wanted for so long, wasn’t it? No. He had Jack. He couldn’t go now. Gabe reached up, putting his hand on Jack’s chest, tapping weakly.

 

The smoke withdrew. It rushed out of his lungs, leaving Gabe desperately gasping for oxygen. The black veins went away, the burning vanished. Gabe collapsed to the mattress, coughing. 

 

“What the hell?” he managed to gasp between coughing fits. 

 

“I didn’t get them all,” Jack said, breathing hard. “But I got a lot. It should be a lot more manageable now.”  

 

Gabe stared up at Jack in disbelief. Had… had Jack cured him?  

 

Jack wiped the blood from his smiling lips. “How do you feel?” 

 

“You took my breath away,” Gabe said. 

 

Jack’s smile widened into something almost too beautiful to look at. “Missed your humor.” His red eyes half closed. “I can’t risk losing it when I’ve only just got you back.” 

 

Gabe sat up and cupped Jack’s face, emotions and words all getting jumbled together into a mess that wouldn’t work themselves into any coherent sentence. “I love you.” 

 

Jack smiled down at him. “I love you.” 

 

Gabe interlaced their left hands, rings touching. “I do, Jack.” 

 

“I do.” Jack kissed him. “That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

 

“We  _ are _ in Spain,” Gabe said between kisses. “But it’s not summer.” 

 

“Spring works for me,” Jack said. “Husband.” He grinned, standing up and offering his hand to Gabe. 

 

He took it and let Jack pull him to his feet. Jack slid into his arms, left hand on his shoulder, the other in his hand. Gabe put his free hand on Jack’s waist. They swayed together. 

 

“Wise men say,” Jack sang softly. “Only fools rush in. But I can’t help falling in love with you.” 

 

Only Jack would sing him a love song. Gabe enjoyed the hell out of it. “First dance?” 

 

Jack nodded as they swayed back and forth. “Shall I stay? Would it be a sin? If I can’t help falling in love with you.” 

 

“Like a river flows,” Gabe continued pressing his forehead to Jack’s, “surely to the sea, darling so it goes, somethings, are meant to be.” 

 

“Take my hand,” they sang in unison “Take my whole life too.” 

 

Jack placed Gabe’s hand over his heart. “For I can’t help falling in love with you.” 

 

“For I can’t help falling in love with you,” Gabe repeated. 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a long sad ride, but this AU is finally wrapped up. I hope you all enjoyed it as much as I have. 
> 
> I'll have something a lot more light and fun tomorrow to dry your tears. 
> 
> RIP Tarnished Reflections: 2017-2018


End file.
